A Scarlet Rose In Winter
by DreamersTales
Summary: She was but a flower, so lovely and bright. And he was a winter storm on a dark, frozen night. Yet even as snow can be gentle and soft, so can a rose be forgotten and lost.
1. Prolog

PROLOG

"Get down from there!"

His voice is alive with panic, an outstretched hand reaching for the woman, the rooftop light glittering off his metal fingers.

"Please, don't do this!"

He begs, his foot shuffling forwards, pushing aside and leaving a mark in the perfect snow that decorates the morbid scene unfolding before his very eyes

"You don't understand what I've done," She yells, her voice straining to be heard over the bustling wind shoving against her small frame, forcing her closer and closer to a grisly demise. "I can't go back, I can't ever go back!"

Tears streak down ivory cheeks, gemstone eyes blinking against the snowflakes that have already created a thin sheet over her.

"This isn't the answer, you know that it isn't!"

He pleads, taking another step forwards towards the shivering woman as his heart races in his chest.

"What if it is?"

Nutmeg hair blows in front of her face, hiding her broken features from the same man who had pulled her from the darkness once before, and was desperately trying to do the same again.

"What if all my life was leading up to this moment? I've lost everything, James! Everything!"

Her body moves backwards half an inch and the man is lunging forwards the last few feet.

"No! No, you haven't lost everything! You still have me! Isn't that enough? Can't that be enough?"

His words are full of pain and verging on hysterical, icy blue irises matching the color of the falling snow as the woman's hands move out in front of her, making a show to indicate he stay back.

"After everything I've done to you, after everything I put you through, why do you care?"

Warm tears trail faster down her face, every inch of her body trembling under the freezing blanket steadily falling over her.

"Wanda," The man whispers hoarsely, the lilt of his voice pure agony. "I don't blame you for what happened, I've never blamed you."

"You should!"

She counters, her body hunching down in the jacket that does very little to warm her.

"What I did wasn't okay, and it shouldn't be forgiven! I ruined this, all of it."

Her voice trails off, her eyes shutting tightly as her body swayed against the wind.

"Wanda!"

His fingers brush against the edge of her shirt as she pulls away, the very edge supporting her weight now as she shakes her head, a melancholy smile brightening up her face.

"James, my sweet James. I'm sorry, but we both know how tonight must end."

"No! I won't let you die!"

Reaching out as the woman falls backwards into the night, falling with the snowflakes that drift down in a quiet but steady pace.

His breath catches in his throat as he stands frozen, staring at the ledge where she had been just moments earlier. The same ledge that she no longer stood on. And all at once, he felt his world crashing down around him.


	2. Chapter One - Bucky

CHAPTER ONE - BUCKY

 _THREE_ _MONTHS_ _EARLIER_

The sound of a camera shutter going off to a perfectly timed beat that only the man could hear, Bucky moved in closer and peered through the viewfinder.

Despite having to be out at the late hour, the man lined up another perfect shot and smiled with satisfaction. Pulling away from the camera, he stares down at the small, round table where a single red rose lies delicately atop it.

"Third time this month."

A heavy voice sighs, the photographer glancing over his shoulder to watch the detective walking around slowly, a cup of coffee firm in hand. His clothes are somewhat disheveled, old jeans and a wrinkled shirt covered by a thick coat that had seen far better days.

"Third time there's been absolutely no sign of breaking in, either. How do they manage to do that?"

Walking over to the table, the detective leans down and squints, staring with vague interest at the flower.

"Detective Barton, you were on call tonight?"

Bucky asks innocently, the faintest trace of a grin on his face as the man shoots him a dirty look.

"I'm apparently _always_ on call, Barnes. Doesn't matter if Lucky needs attention, or I've already sat down. No, some rich guys valuables and a flower is much more pressing than all of that."

The bitterness in his voice is anything but veiled, the man standing up straight and stretching.

"Some form of professionalism, Clint, would be desirable."

A second voice chimes in, Bucky's eyes moving to the redheaded woman who stands in the doorway with her trademark smirk and curls that bounce with every move she makes. The dark jeans and black dress shirt she wears flatter her figure, setting her entirely apart from her otherwise unkempt partner.

"Detective Romanoff, how are you?"

Bucky questions, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes at watching the detective sauntering over, hand on her hip while extending a file out to her partner.

"James."

She nods courteously, waiting for Clint to take the file still extended out to him.

"What are you doing, what's that?"

He questions, staring at the folder blankly as the woman frowns.

"Why I never switched partners when given the chance I'll never know."

She mutters, shoving the file against him and walking into the other room.

"Nat, wait. Natasha, come on, I was kidding!"

The man calls after her, trailing behind his partner while still calling out for her to listen.

Exhaling quietly, Bucky stares down at the rose once again. Captain Fury had called him an hour earlier, asking him to come down and photograph the scene.

Apparently a rich politician had returned to his home after a business gathering and discovered a rather extravagant vase missing from his home and found a single red rose left in its place. Now Bucky wasn't one for fancy items and showing off what he had, not that he even made enough as a forensic photographer to even consider buying some useless, high priced item to just sit around, but he did feel for the guy.

His question was similar to the detectives, and that was why was a rose always left? He'd studied at the academy, hell, he'd almost made detective himself until.. But the rose made no sense. No one was ever hurt; there was no pattern between the people who were robbed. This was a strange calling card for any criminal, and Bucky was dying to figure it out.

"Come on!"

Natasha's voice pulled the photographer's thoughts from the flower, meandering into the other room where the two stood bickering as usual.

"But we haven't looked at everything!"

Clint complains, waving the files around in the air while once again trailing behind the woman as she stormed past Bucky.

"That's why we have pictures. I have a date tonight, and I won't be any later!"

"You have a date?"

Clint questions, pulling up short and staring at the woman's back.

"Yes, now let's go, I'm your ride, remember?"

She scoffs, walking out of the loft and waving a brief goodbye to Bucky as she left.

"She has a date.."

Clint murmurs, his eyes dropping to the floor as he walked past, holding his coffee cup just a little bit tighter.

"Detective Barton," Bucky called out, taking a step towards the officer as the other turned, a glum expression clouding his features. "She doesn't have a date."

"What?"

"I overheard her yesterday morning, they had to reschedule. So, she doesn't have a date tonight."

Bucky shrugs, letting his camera fall against his chest while sliding his hands into his pockets.

"What are you saying, Barnes?"

Clint snaps, his tone sharp as he straightens, staring the photographer down.

"I'm sayin, maybe you should fill in for the guy."

He states calmly, staring intently at the detective.

"I don't know what-"

"Come on, Clint. It doesn't take a genius to figure out how you feel about her. Isn't it about time you took a chance?"

"Whatever you're implying is highly unprofessional and-"

"Maybe I'm wrong," He defends, raising his hands in a surrendering motion. "Or, maybe she likes you too. You don't know unless you try."

He says, watching as the man's eyes narrow.

"Whatever.." He grumbles, turning on his heel and stalking away before he came to a sudden stop. "How many people know that I.. you know.."

"There may or may not be a pool going around to see when you ask her out."

Bucky offers, a grin stretching wide on his face as Clint scoffed again.

"Great.. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sure, see you later."

The photographer calls after him, shaking his head as his eyes drift once more to the flower that another officer was picking up carefully to submit into evidence.

Making his way to the door, Bucky knelt down next to his camera bag, carefully replacing the lens cap and sliding his camera into its case. Zipping it up and slinging the bag over his shoulder, the man slips past the last remaining officer and heads towards the elevator.

Three times in the span of a month. It was already the second week of November, which meant that they had started their first robbery mid-October. What could the trigger have been?

Stifling a yawn, Bucky stepped through the open doors and pressed the button for the first floor before leaning back against the wall and folding his arms over his chest. He would wait until morning to send the pictures in, wanting to avoid another unpleasant confrontation with the one detective in particular who he knew was currently at the station working a different case.

As the doors slide open and the man makes his way outside from the lobby, the cold air bites into his skin, causing him to pull his coat tighter around his body. Light from the streetlamps overhead bathes over him, causing the fingers on his left hand to reflect the illumination back at him. Closing his fist tightly, his eyes look back up to the road and spots a familiar face waiting for him. Striding over to the car and resting his arm on top of it, he leans down with a grin, the man inside jumping from the sudden appearance.

"Hiya, punk."

Bucky beams, walking around and pulling open the passenger door before climbing in, resting his camera equipment on his lap.

"Geez, Buck, tryin to scare me to death?"

"Well, it obviously didn't work but don't worry, I'll try again next time. Why're you here?"

Pulling out away from the curb, Steve shrugs lightly.

"Knew you were working late and you didn't take your bike, so figured I'd give you a lift."

"Uh huh, very thoughtful of you."

The man observes, narrowing his eyes at his friend.

"Hey, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"When's your next deadline?" He questions, watching the blondes hands fidget over the steering wheel while slowing at a red light. "I know you heard me, pal. Out with it, you just wanted the story didn't you?"

Bucky raises his brows, smirking at the sheepish expression drifting over his friend's features.

"Look, Stark is on another one of his rants about how none of us work, and I need a story that'll help with that."

"I'm pretty sure this is abuse of our friendship."

"You're a crime scene photographer, Buck, not an actual cop."

"Yeah? Well you're just a journalist. You know what everyone at the precinct calls people like you? Vultures."

"So you gonna tell me what happened there?"

Steve asks, looking over with a pleading expression. Slumping back in his seat, Bucky lets out a long sigh.

"Another robbery is all."

"Doesn't help me any, pal. Any details you can offer?"

Thinking back to the red flower resting on the table as it had in two other places over the past four weeks, Bucky shakes his head.

"Nope. Probably just some businessman who was desperate for cash and tried to scam the insurance company. Nothing exciting. Sorry, Steve."

Letting out his own exasperated sigh, Steve turned down a street and leaned back in his seat.

"No problem. I'll figure something out. Maybe get a story from a coworker. Or better yet, I'll just watch paint dry for seven hours and report on that, Stark will _love_ that."

"Sarcasm does not become you, Steve," Bucky observes, readjusting the bag on his lap. "Just write another rousing article about patriotism or the army, or hey, go National Guard this time!"

"Don't make a mockery out of that kinda thing, Buck, it means a lot to me."

"Hey, I've served my country, I get mocking privileges."

Bucky scoffs, turning to look out the window as they fell silent, icy blue hues counting ever car they drove past. After a few minutes of silent tension, Steve cleared his throat.

"Buck, you wanna-"

"No."

"But you didn't even hear what I was going to say."

"I already knew what you were going to say, and no."

"But Buck-"

"Oh look, we're home."

He mutters, pushing his door open the moment the car slowed.

"Bucky!"

Steve calls after him, the man storming up the steps to their shared apartment, sliding the key in and walking inside, almost immediately tripping over one of Steve's boxes.

"Damnit!"

He curses; his camera equipment swinging around as he flipped a light on, staring in disgust at the amount of items scattered everywhere.

"We really ought to clean."

Steve muses, slipping in past his friend and closing the door, expertly dodging the various boxes, piles of clothes, and pieces of furniture that cluttered their small abode.

"Yeah, or maybe it's time I moved out. Not like this was supposed to be a permanent arrangement anyway."

Bucky sighs, finally dropping his bag on a pile of clothes and dancing around the obstacle course.

"Is this because you're mad at me?"

Steve asks quietly, walking into the kitchen.

"No, punk, this is me looking at the one bedroom apartment you have and deciding that eight months of crashing on your couch is seven months too many."

"I don't mind having you, it's been nice."

"It's been stressful. Not to mention your very obvious abuse of trying to weasel stories out of me whenever I come home."

"What?" He gasps in offense, walking over and leaning over the couch where Bucky has settled and resting his hand on the man's shoulder. "Let's be honest, pal. Even if you moved out, I'd still be doing that."

"Go away."

Bucky grumbles, shoving him away good naturedly.

"Are you serious about this, Buck?"

"Yeah, I think I am. I'll check out some apartments tomorrow."

"I can't picture you being gone."

"I'm moving out, Steve, not dying."

"Bucky was such a good friend.. he will be missed.."

"Steve."

"Sometimes I can still hear his voice.."

"Steve!"

"Alright! I'm going to bed."

He laughs, patting the other's shoulder again and walking towards his room.

"Don't be up too late!"

"Yeah, yeah."

He mutters in response, leaning back and stretching his legs across the couch, resting an arm under his head while staring up at the ceiling.

A new apartment. Would he even be able to afford one with his salary? Pondering the different options that now lay before him, Bucky couldn't help but think about the red rose that came to mind once again.

Closing his eyes tightly and kicking off his shoes to get more comfortable, he exhales a long breath. Tomorrow he'd look up places to live, and what information he could find on the meaning behind red flowers.


	3. Chapter Two - Wanda

' _-breaking records of the coldest November we've seen in years. A public announcement previously scheduled for the speech of the mayor, Stan Lee, to be put on hold. Now in other news-'_

The annoying sound of garbled voices speaking over the alarm clocks radio pulls the groggy woman from her dreams, a bedraggled brunette lifting her head and staring across the room with eyes that glared accusingly at her clock.

"It cannot be six already.."

She murmurs to herself, burying her head under the pillow and sighing deeply. Pulling her phone from beside her and lighting up the screen, she stares with squinted green hues at the time glowing back at her.

"No!"

She yelps, jumping up in her bed and sending the pillow previously covering her head flying to the floor as she scrambled to untangle herself from the blankets before running into the bathroom, leaving her phone in place on her mattress, still illuminating the glowing _'6:42'_ as the time.

"Stupid alarm clock, stupid phone, stupid morning!"

She curses to herself as she moves quickly, pulling long brown tresses up into a messy bun and splashing cold water on her face.

"Late, late, late."

She chants over and over, pulling her closet doors open and changing as fast as she can, pulling on a short black skirt and frantically buttoning up a white top while blowing stray hairs out of her face.

Stifling a yawn, the woman darts back into her bathroom, sticking a toothbrush in her mouth while trying to slide her feet into the heels lying by her door. With one hand brushing her teeth and the other pulling together the stack of papers on her desk, Wanda groaned low and long.

Spitting and rinsing her mouth out in the sink, she's shoving her papers in a laptop bag and grabbing her keys, pulling open her door and hesitating before reaching out and grabbing her coat. As the door is held open behind her, her eyes catch the stack of envelopes she had left on her end table the previous night.

A heavy weight settled in her chest as she stared down at the stack of endless bills before she is pulling the door closed and taking the perilous stairs two at a time until she reaches the parking lot three floors down.

Sitting in a small grey car, she spots her ride bobbing his head, thumbs tapping against the steering wheel to some unheard beat as he waited for her.

Running over and pulling open the door, the woman practically tumbles inside, breathing fast and looking at the man.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't hear my alarm go off!"

She apologizes, slamming the door shut as the man laughs.

"I figured. I was about to leave you, so you're lucky you came out when you did."

"You would leave me?"

She gasps, settling back in her seat and running her hands over her hair to smooth down the stray flyway's.

"Have you met Stark? Of course I would leave."

The man states, though the tone of his voice is indicative to his lie. And even if it hadn't, Wanda knew him well enough to know he wouldn't be that cruel.

"You're rather mean."

She huffs nonetheless while folding her arms, glaring at the blonde with a mischievous twitch of her lip.

"Yeah? Well you're late, and that's worse."

"Mhm. Tell me, Rogers, you get your story last night?"

She questions, turning her head to look at Steve as he drove.

"No, I was hoping for one but turns out my friend was of little help."

"You need a better friend on the police force."

She grins, tapping her nails lightly against her bag.

"Yeah, well not all of us have a detective as a Godfather."

"Uncle Clint isn't much help either if it's any consolation," Wanda offers, glancing warily at the car's clock. "We're gonna get chewed out. Again."

"Learn to wake up to your alarm."

Steve remarks briefly, turning into the large building where they worked, thankful more than usual for its close proximity to her apartment.

"Not you, Stark likes you."

Wanda comments, pushing open her door as the car was put into park. Gathering her items together and slinging her bag over her shoulder, the woman sighs and looks back in the car.

"Lose something?"

Steve questions, slamming his door and peering over the top at her.

"Yeah, I can't find my phone. I know I had it when- shoot!"

She mutters, her heel clacking hard against the cement while grimacing down at the empty seat.

"Left it behind?" The man asks, a knowing smirk on his face as the woman barely nodded. "Someday you're gonna get your life together, right?"

"Right.." She mutters, slamming her own door and trailing behind the man as they made their way to the elevator that took them from the garage to the fifth floor.

"Honestly what I need is a smaller apartment. Or at least a roommate. Right now everything is everywhere and I'm too stressed from trying to pay for that place by myself to actually think straight."

She sighs, readjusting the strap on her bag. "You're not looking for anyone, are you Steve?"

"No, but it's funny you mentioned that, my friend that's been staying with me, the one who works for the police? He was just saying he was going to be looking into new apartments today."

"A police officer? I dunno.."

"No, no. Buck's not a cop, he's a forensic photographer."

Steve clarifies, the elevator doors opening and showing them to an already bustling office.

"I still don't know, you know how I am with 'friends of friends' it rarely works out in my favor."

"How about I give him your number and you guys talk, and see what happens? Who knows, you might be surprised."

"I guess. At least if he lives with you he can't be too bad."

Wanda relents, making her way to her desk as a young man bumped into her, a stack of papers flying to the ground.

"I-I'm so sorry, Miss Maximoff!"

A hurried voice apologizes, a camera swinging around the boy's neck as he knelt down, scooping the tumbled papers together.

"Don't worry about it, Peter, no harm done," Wanda smiled, kneeling down to help the young intern. "Did you submit your pictures to Mr. Stark yet?"

"I did."

He nods, his eyes avoiding her face as his lips pressed together into a thin line.

"He didn't go for it, did he?"

"He doesn't want me out there; I know that's the only reason."

He complains, staring up at the journalist mournfully.

"I'm sure he will someday, Peter. You know he just worries about you is all."

"It's not like I'm a child, I'm very capable of taking care of myself."

He grumbles, standing up as Wanda did the same, handing a small stack of papers to him.

"He knows that, we all do. You're the best intern we've ever had!"

"Maximoff, get in here!"

Stark's loud voice boomed, the woman cringing as she sat her bag at her desk.

"I'll see you after school, Peter."

"Yeah, see you."

He nods quickly, racing towards the elevator as the woman inhaled deeply, squaring back her shoulders before striding into the editors office. One look at Tony Stark and she knew today was about to get much worse.

His clothes were bedraggled and looked quite similar to his attire from the day before. An old coat was still draped across his couch, and a now empty bottle of liquor sat in a waste basket while an empty glass lay on the table next to the couch.

He must've gotten into another fight Pepper last night, which meant the argument with Peter wasn't the child's fault, but rather that of an angry, hung over man with no patience this morning.

"Good morning, Mr. Stark."

Wanda said softly, closing the door behind her as the man pointed to a seat across from his desk. Sliding down into it and folding her hands across her lap, bright eyes peered up at her employer.

"Where have you been?"

He demands, his hand resting on his cluttered desk while scowling down at her.

"I'm sorry?"

"I asked where the hell you've been, off visiting family? You take a trip out of country that I don't know about?"

Pressing her lips together, Wanda worked to steady her voice before speaking. Whenever he was hung over the quips about her family and where she grew up always seemed to come up more often than other times.

"No, Sir. I've been in the city for the past eleven months."

"Well then where were you, cause you sure as hell weren't at that interview!"

He yells, slamming a thin blue folder down on the table that contained her previously sent in article.

"Mr. Stark, I assure you I covered that interview entirely. I even recorded it to aid in my writing and-"

"Does it look like I care about your excuses?" He demands, leaning down and practically snarling at her. "You are a damned good writer, Maximoff!"

"Wait, what?"

Wide emerald eyes stare up at the editor glowering down at her as she tries to process the sudden praise that came from his lips.

"You heard me! And I'm sick of seeing this half assed work constantly being thrown at me!"

Storming away from her and rifling through a stack of files, he begins piling one after the other on his desk.

"The debate between senators, the mayor's speech, the woman's march, even the rally last year!"

He slams the last one down, heaving a long sigh and dropping into his chair, his fingers running down his stubbly face that obviously hadn't been shaved recently.

"Sir?"

"You have unprecedented talent, Wanda. But you lack one thing. Know what that is?"

She wasn't sure how to respond, falling silent instead while staring at the man.

"Passion. It's like you're a robot filling its word count! I've given you some of the best pieces of the past few months trying to inspire you but none of it seems to be working! And frankly I'm tired of it."

"Mr. Stark, I assure you that I've been doing my best with-"

"I don't want your excuses, Maximoff." He says quietly, leaning back in his chair and staring her down. "I want you to write a story. A good one, like I know you're damn capable of doing."

"I will do my best, Sir."

"No, you'll do what I say. I'm giving you the story on the recent crime spree that's been occurring."

"Crime spree?" She asks, her brows rising in shock. "Normally you give Sam Wilson those stories."

"Like I said, kid, I'm trying to find some damned way to inspire you. Politics sure as hell isn't doing it, so we're trying a different route, and this is the only story I have left. Now you'll write it, you'll make it good, or you'll be sending in your application to other newspapers in the area. Have I made myself clear?"

Swallowing thickly, Wanda nods.

"Yes, Mr. Stark, you have."

"Good. I'll email you what we already have on the story, and I want a full copy on my desk by Thursday afternoon. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Get the hell out of my office."

Rising quickly, she hesitates a moment with her mouth open, pondering what to say, how exactly to object, before she is closing her mouth tightly and walking out, closing the door softly behind her.

As soon as she is out of the office a heavy sigh is leaving her lips, a frown set on her face as she meandered over to her desk, plopping down with a disheartened groan.

"Get yelled at?"

Steve questions, leaning over from his desk next to hers.

"More like reassigned. He thinks I'm not 'inspired' enough with my current articles, so he's having me cover a string of robberies." She grimaces, leaning back in her chair and pushing a strand of hair from her face. "I've never written that kind of thing before. It's going to be awful, and I'm going to be fired."

"You won't be fired. Despite his stern attitude, Mr. Stark does like us to some degree. I think."

Smiling despite herself, the woman is grabbing her wallet from out of her purse and stands, stretching out her arms.

"I'm going to get coffee from that café down the street before I start, want anything?"

"Yeah, sure, doughnut?"

"You keep eating those things, Steve, you'll have to do a lot more running. Be back soon."

She smirks, her hand resting on his shoulder briefly before she is heading back to the elevator, her wallet switching back and forth between her hands as it opens and she steps inside.

"Wait up!"

A voice calls, a hand reaching out to stop the doors from closing. Looking up at the tall man who stands beside her, she can't help but feel herself stare at the strangely familiar individual. As they begin their descent down, the realization of who the man is strikes Wanda, and she turns, smiling widely.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, T'Challa."

She says graciously, the man turning, a faint glimmer in his eyes as he extends his hand.

"Miss Maximoff, wasn't it? How good to see you."

"You remembered, I'm flattered."

"My father's speech was only a month ago, and it would be difficult to forget you and your lovely accent."

Smiling softly, she stares at the doors again.

"The senator's speech was wonderful; I was honored to have the opportunity to interview him afterwards."

"He enjoyed it as well from how highly he spoke of you when it was finished." The man nods, the doors opening once more on the third floor. "If you'll excuse me, it was nice to see you again."

"You as well."

She responds, her eyes trailing after him as he walked past her. Her eyes scanned over his dark suit, his leather briefcase, and more to her taste, the gold watch that peeked out from under his sleeve.

Catching her breath, the woman turned her face away to hide her smile, looking down at the floor instead as her heart hammered away in her chest, the elevator doors closing once again. Perhaps she'd find a way to make her evening better than her day after all was said and done.


	4. Chapter Three - Bucky

Slumping down against his desk, metal fingers tap absentmindedly over the oak surface where half a dozen photographs were spread about, the one on top featuring a red rose sitting on a round white table.

Another photo on the left showed the same type of crimson colored flower sitting on a mantelpiece, right beneath the empty space where a piece of art had previously been hanging, and a third rose makes its mark on a podium in lieu of a pricey sculpture.

Groaning quietly, the man's head dropped against his desk, closing his eyes and sighing softly. Bucky had made copies of the crime scene photos before handing them in that morning, and had spent the past two hours poring over the reports, the pictures, and the witness statements.

No one had any idea what was happening, or how. It wasn't uncommon for there to be robberies, hell, it wasn't even that uncommon for the burglar to leave a sign or a trademark of his work. The problem was no one had any clue as to how the thief was getting in and out without detection.

The first home had seven night guards circling the place, while the second had a state of the art security system. And the one he had been at last night, they'd had a mixture of the two, as well as being on the top floor of an apartment complex.

It was witchcraft, pure and simple. He couldn't think of any other way to describe how any of this was happening. And while it wasn't his job to capture the thief, for some reason, he'd taken this particular case rather personally.

Sitting up and scowling at his cluttered workspace, Bucky reached out and pulled the newspaper out from under the stack of files and spread it over the top of everything.

He wasn't sure which was more frustrating in the moment, trying to figure out how to track down an untraceable criminal, or trying to find a cheap apartment with his salary in New York that wasn't going to end up with him waking up one morning to all of his possessions gone.

Leaning back in his chair and scanning over the ads, the sound of arrogant laughter and the smell of way too much hair product wafted over to him, leaving the man wondering how quickly he could dive over his desk and book it to the break room.

"Well, if it isn't the wanna be detective. Afternoon, Barnes."

The snide voice chimed from behind the photographer, Bucky's eyes closing as he inhaled deeply, spinning his chair around to face the dark haired individual with a weary expression.

"Loki. Don't you have some candy to steal from children?"

"You're hilarious, what's this?"

He asked, leaning over and scooping up one of the pictures, holding it up and out of Bucky's reach.

"Isn't this the case Barton and Romanoff are working?"

"Yeah, I photographed each of the crime scenes, mind giving that back? It's evidence."

"If it's evidence than why do you have it?" He demanded, flipping the picture back on the stack with a cruel smile. "Don't tell me you are actually trying to accomplish _real_ police work. You failed your test, remember?"

Clenching his fists tightly, the man spins back around, flipping the newspaper over the rest of the pictures while struggling to keep his cool.

"What? No sarcastic remark? I'm disappointed in you, though what can we expect from our broken toy soldier?"

Standing up abruptly, Bucky stared the man down.

"Going to hit me? Assaulting an officer is a crime, Barnes. Go back to playing with your little camera."

"Loki, I sweat to-"

"Brother! What are you doing?"

"Oh for the love of God.."

Loki sighed, pulling away from Bucky and turning to look at the long haired blonde striding over.

"Thor, mind your own business, I was simply having a lively discussion with our crime scene photographer here. And I told you to stop calling me that, I'm not your brother."

"You're my brother, Loki, even if you were adopted." Thor defended, folding his arms over his chest and turning to look around him at Bucky. "James, how are you?"

"Fine. My condolences, by the way."

He scoffed, gathering the pictures together and sliding them into a thin folder.

"Condolences, for what?"

"For having an asshole for a sibling. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go wash the stench of power hungry lunatics off of me."

He spits, gathering the rest of his things while slinging his camera bag over his shoulder and slipping past the two men. Wandering through the precinct, he fidgeted with the strap on his bag and slipped past two officers talking as a heavy weight settled in the man's stomach.

' _Though what can we expect from our broken toy soldier?'_

Loki's words play back through the man's mind, a scowl settling on his face. That asshole always knew how to piss him off, and that stupid English accent just made everything he said sound so much more pretentious.

He couldn't deny the facts though, and that's what made him furious about the whole thing. He wasn't a broken toy, but he had failed the psych evaluation, and that essentially felt like the same thing.

Clutching the file just a little bit tighter, he turned a blind corner and nearly ran into a young woman with long, dark brown hair.

"I'm so sorry."

He quickly apologized, backing away and staring down at the smaller woman whose eyes were red and puffy from obvious crying.

"No, no, I wasn't looking where I was going." She spoke softly, running her hand down her face and forcing a small smile. "Is there any chance you could direct me to a detective Loki Laufeyson?"

"You want to speak with Loki, seriously?"

Bucky scoffed, the confused look on the woman's face encouraging him to rectify what he said.

"I mean, right, yeah, he's right back through there, you can't miss him."

" _Or his shit faced attitude."_

He thought to himself, the young woman smiling gratefully, her hands running down her jeans anxiously.

"Thank you. Uhm, I'm sorry," She began, digging through her purse before pulling out a crumpled flyer and offering it to Bucky. "But is there any chance that you've seen this man?"

Taking the flyer from her and smoothing it out, she continued talking.

"That's why I'm here, I was told that Detective Laufeyson works most missing person's cases, and I'm running out of options."

Displayed on the flyer was a young man, nice looking, with shorter hair and a cheeky grin wide on his face.

"Wade Wilson, my fiancé."

She said, smiling sadly.

"He seems like a nice guy, but no I'm sorry, I haven't seen him around."

He shrugged, offering the flyer back that she took reluctantly.

"Okay, thank you, I just needed to ask."

She murmured, shoving it back down inside her bag and slipping past the man, making her way further inside to find the detective.

Shaking his head and walking towards the break room, Bucky felt his phone vibrating inside his pocket.

' _Find an apartment yet?'_

Steve's text message displayed across his screen. Pausing beside the coffee machine, the man answered quickly.

' _No, but it's only been a few hours. You that desperate to get rid of me?'_

Dropping his files and bag at one of the tables, he grabbed the coffee pot and grimaced, the cold liquid inside far from appealing. Adding a fresh paper and coffee grounds, he dumped out the rest of the old before letting another pot brew as his phone buzzed again.

' _What can I say? It's harder to hide a body when you've got a cop living with you.'_

Frowning to himself, he stared down at the screen in frustration.

' _Not a cop, Steve. Besides, even if I was, obviously we're the ones who would know the best place to hide said body. Finally off Sam?'_

Standing quietly while waiting for the fresh coffee, the man glanced down at his left arm, the lights shining down and casting a glow on the shining metal.

Clenching the fist slowly, he closed his eyes, the sound of saws buzzing in the back of his mind, and his own tortured screams echoing around him. He hated having this reminder stuck to him, a painful token of his time in-

The buzzing of his phone causes the man to jolt, clearing the painful memories from his mind while checking the new text.

' _You're the one who doesn't like Sam, pal. Listen, I've got this friend I work with who is looking for a roommate, and I thought of you. I can text you the address and you can go look at it tonight and meet them. Personally, I think it would be perfect for both of you.'_

Grimacing at the thought of a 'set up' for an apartment, Bucky sighed.

' _No offense Steve, but if I room with Sam, we'll be testing my 'hiding a body' theory, and I kinda like my job.'_

Reaching over and grabbing the freshly filled pot, the man poured a small cup and snapped on a lid, taking a long drink and settling in at his table.

' _Not Sam, her name is Wanda Maximoff, really nice girl. I think you guys would get along well.'_

Spreading out his things, he pulled out the paper once again and skimmed over the writing. It's not like he was having much luck anyway, and so long as it wasn't Sam, he could at least check the place out, couldn't he? Although the idea of another roommate was a bit much, especially after enduring Steve's relentless 'worry' about him.

' _So is this a you trying to set me up on a date thing, or an actual possible apartment thing?'_

He responded back, pulling the photograph of one of the roses out and looking at it closely. Clint had gone to the different flower shops after the second case turned up, but no one was buying individual roses, nor were they buying them in bulk aside from the typical anniversaries and birthdays, which actually made things all that much more complicated.

' _It's none of my business who you date, Buck. It has been awhile, and I haven't seen you even look at a girl aside from that Detective Romanoff in months, but again, not my business.'_

Rolling his eyes, Bucky took a long drink and dropped the photo, turning his head to look out the window. Storming past the open break room door he's distracted by the same brunette he'd met just a few minutes earlier walking past, holding a hand to her mouth with tears running down her face. Confusion swept over the photographer, leaning forwards to watch her turn and head for the elevator as Loki walked inside, making a direct line for the coffee.

"Who was that woman?"

He demanded, watching the detective calmly pour a cup of coffee.

"Vanessa Carlysle, looking into some missing man."

He shrugged, as if he were indifferent to the whole thing.

"Well, are you looking for him?"

Bucky pushed, leaning back as Loki scoffed.

"Please, I have much more important things to do than handle the issues of some mewling quim like her, who simply cannot fathom why her boyfriend is gone."

"You've got to be kidding me right now."

"He dumped her, and she cannot cope, I see this frequently. Besides, I have other more pressing cases to devote my time too. Perhaps you would understand if you were more than the camera you hide behind."

He shot harshly, turning his back and leaving the room and Bucky behind to glare at his disappearing back.

"Some cop you are."

He muttered, pushing the photos back in frustration. He hated cops like Loki, who cared more about the bottom line than actually helping people. If he had his way, cops like that wouldn't even be allowed on the force.

When had human decency become a thing of the past in exchange for power hungry individuals who just wanted to rise through the ranks? And to make matters worse, Bucky just knew that Loki would end up being someone in power one day, that's just how things like that went.

' _Look, just check this place out? You don't have to be there long, and you might even be surprised by how much you like it.'_

Sliding his phone across the table and slumping down as he had at his desk early, he stared angrily at the photos. When would he be able to make sense of this? When would the roses tell him more than they had already done?

His phone vibrated again, displaying the address of the apartment complex that was a few blocks from the place where Steve worked.

"You're really desperate to get some good stories out of me, aren't you pal?" He muttered, resting his forehead on his arms and staring at the floor below the table. "Fine.. I'll check it out.."

He says to himself, pressing his lips together tightly and closing his eyes. He needed a distraction anyway, the last thing he needed was to focus on his past, and ruin things for himself all over again.


	5. Chapter Four - Wanda

' _-in which reports have been filed stating the sudden increase in criminal activity is unrelated, despite the appearance of red flowers left at every crime scene.'_

Scowling at the words typed up on her screen, the brunette quickly backspaced to get rid of the writing, leaving a simple line blinking monotonously and in a rather mocking manner. They had given her very little information at the precinct, and the file Stark had sent her had contained even less.

Slamming her laptop closed, an audible groan is released from her lips, her head dropping into her hands while her fingers ruffled through her hair in aggravation.

"I'm so fired.." She muttered, staring down at the white marble counter she was leaning against. "Fine, I'll just work customer service. Writing sucks anyway."

She grumbled in defeat, turning around and adjusting the fire from the burner on her stove where a small pot sat covered.

The faint aroma of marinara sauce and cooking hamburger wafted through the apartment, cheering her up only slightly as she lifted the lid and slipped in a wooden spoon, stirring the contents in quiet contemplation.

If she lost her job, she'd be able to cope. She'd done it before, she could do it again. Granted this time she didn't have him around but-

No.

Don't think about that.

Mentally scolding herself, Wanda pulled the spoon from the pot and placed the lid on it once more before setting the sauce covered utensil in a small dish off to the side.

"Music, that's what I need!"

She exclaimed, her hand beginning to tremble as she pulled open her computer and pulled up her music, working to keep her mind clear of the fog threatening to overtake her with memories she didn't want to relive.

Placing the list on shuffle and turning it up as loud as she dared with her neighbors currently home, she forced her thoughts onto other things.

What would it be like living with a man again? Would this friend of Steve's be nice? What kind of food did he like?

If he was a forensic photographer like Steve had said, he was most likely a nerdy guy, and that was slightly concerning. She didn't watch a lot of television, and she hadn't played games since he-

"Stop!"

She scolded aloud, resting her hands on the edge of the counter and closing her eyes tightly, her chest constricting painfully.

Focus.. She needed to focus.

Get out, think about other things, don't let it in, don't-

Tears gathered in Wanda's eyes as her fingers tightened around the lip of the counter, her breathing shallow through the pain in her chest.

She was being foolish. Stupid and foolish and breathing was getting harder.

Why couldn't she breathe?

Just take a breath and focus.

Forcing her eyes to open, she finds she's no longer standing in her kitchen, but on the street corner. That wretched corner that still haunted her every nightmare.

Blood covered her hands, crimson staining the cement around her and around him. There was so much blood; it didn't seem possible for _so_ _much_ to be in a single person.

And his body, God, he was just _lying_ there. Why wasn't he moving? He needed to get up; he needed to get away from there.

She could hear someone screaming, such a horrible sound that echoed throughout the desolate street and hurt her ears. She wanted to tell them to shut up, to stop screaming, but she couldn't. She couldn't because those hysterical screams were her own, and she couldn't believe what she was seeing before her.

Blood.

So much blood.

Dripping and seeping and oozing and-

' _Who's strong and brave and here to save the American way?'_

The sudden ringtone playing from the counter next to her interrupts not only her memories, but the low instrumental music playing from her computer that had begun seeping into her waking nightmare.

' _Who vows to fight like a man for what's right night and day?'_

The perky melody pulled at the woman's attention, her eyes dragging open and staring through her blurry, tear filled vision to find herself standing in her kitchen once more.

' _Who will campaign door to door for America,'_

"Shut up.."

She mumbled, her voice thick with emotion as she picked up her phone, fidgeting with it to try and stop the music.

' _Carry the flag shore to shore for America,'_

"I know, shut up!"

She yelled, wiping her eyes against the sleeve of her shirt.

' _From Hoboken to Spokane,'_

Lighting up the screen, she spotted the message from Steve while breathing raggedly.

' _The Star Spangled Man With-'_

The melody cut off as she slid open the screen with a rough swipe, sniffing loudly before turning her phone off and dropping it on the counter with a loud _'thunk'_

Why was it every time he came to mind, it hurt her so badly? Why did everything remind her of him?

Even the music of the soft lullaby the laptop played was so familiar, so devastating, and had the woman breaking down into a mess of tears once more, her chest heaving with the sobs ripping at her entire body.

Sinking down to her knees with one hand still holding the counter above her, Wanda desperately pulled in one breath after the other.

"Please.." She croaked, a shaking hand covering her mouth to contain the hysteria. "Stop this.."

Warm tears fell like broken fragments of her soul to the tiled floor of the kitchen as she pulled her arms around herself, curling her body into itself as tightly as she could while waiting for the moment to pass.

Bracing her head against the cabinets on the island she leaned against, she closed her eyes and shuddered, another croaked sob escaping her lips.

She had dealt with such attacks in the past, but they hadn't been anything like this, and not nearly as frequent. And when they would verge on difficult, he was always there for her until it passed.

Wanda let out a wry laugh with her next sob, a hand wiping at the flood of never ending tears.

Ironic that she was having a panic attack thinking about the times he helped calm her past panic attacks.

Burying her face in her knees that she drew to her chest, she worked to breathe slow and deep until the crushing suffocation had lifted, allowing her just a modicum of relief.

Taking a few more minutes to calm her shaking body, Wanda began relaxing just a bit as the music changed to a different song. Reaching up and grabbing her phone to pull it down to her, she looked at the message Steve had sent.

' _Bucky loved the idea, he's free tonight to stop by and check the place out. He didn't give me a time but he shouldn't show up too late. Trust me; this is going to be great for the both of you. Let me know how it goes!'_

The annoyingly encouraging text does nothing but add more stress onto the journalist as she began banging her head lightly against the kitchen cabinets.

He worked late on top of everything else, which meant he never really went out much. Was he a recluse? What was she supposed to do with someone who never left her alone? What would happen if he was messy, too? He'd always be around, he'd never clean up his mess, and she'd be stuck acting as a maid on top of everything else.

Or maybe she was overthinking things, and he was really a very nice person. Then again, he could also be a really lazy guy who would make her life even more of a living hell.

Groaning again, Wanda brushed away the last of the tears that clung to her cheeks, feeling the wet tracks left on her face from the unintended break down.

Pushing herself up and hiccupping, she dropped her phone back on the counter and turned back to her pot, staring in disgust at the carefully prepared meal waiting to be eaten as exhaustion weighed heavily on her.

Turning off the burner and cracking the lid to watch the steam rise to the ceiling for a moment, she turned on her heel and walked back into her bedroom.

Pulling open her closet doors and staring inside, she grabbed a hoodie and a pair of jeans, changing quickly into the more comfortable clothes and out of the constricting outfit she had on from her previous work day while slipping on a pair of old sneakers.

Pulling her hair down and running her fingers through it, she let the wavy mass drift about her shoulders before glancing in the mirror in her bathroom. It was a simple look, and she wasn't entirely sure it was flattering, but she cared more about the comfort than her looks at the moment.

Closing her closet and beginning to pick up the various items on the floor and stashing them away for a later date, her foot bumped into a heavy duffel bag stuffed away under her bed.

Kneeling down, her fingers brushed against the canvas tote and she found herself smiling, just a little.

Somehow, just the thought of what was inside was enough to cheer her up in a sickening way.

Shoving the pile of items up under and on top of the bag, she rose and continued to the bathroom, quickly cleaning up after her frantic, overslept morning.

The music from her laptop filtered in to her as a more lively song began playing. Moving her head slowly to the beat, cracked lips moved along to the words silently as she worked.

Sliding the shower curtain over to hide the inside that had not been cleaned in longer than she cared to admit, her body began swaying with the words while shoving various beauty products into the messy medicine cabinet.

Flipping off lights as she left the rooms, she made her way down the hall to the other door that had remained closed and silent for the past three months.

Swallowing thickly, her steps faltered outside the door, her fingers hovering over the doorknob. As the beat began picking up with the chorus of the song, she forced herself to grab ahold of the cold metal handle, pushing the door open and stepping into the dark room.

Flicking on the light switch, emerald eyes scanned the items lying packed in various boxes. She had managed to stow away a lot of the stuff, but the boxes were still around, and there were sheets still covering the larger pieces of furniture.

Grimacing to herself, Wanda began removing the sheets and folded them slowly, her eyes moving across the small bed and the dark brown desk. If she dared to close her eyes she knew she would see him, sitting at his desk typing away on his computer.

" _You wanna stand there and watch, or you want to help me?"_

His voice echoed in her mind as her fingers skimmed over the wooden surface.

" _If I help you, your professors will know. Besides, you're smarter than I am."_

" _I'm sorry, are you sick?"_

His laughter brought a weak smile to her face as she slid into his old desk chair.

" _I know nothing about medical; you know I can't even stand the sight of blood."_

" _Did I tell you that one kid in my class made a quip about how not a single patient would be able to understand me with my accent?"_

" _Well, he isn't very smart, because it's barely even noticeable. Besides, with all that medical babble you talk incessantly about, they won't have to worry about your accent hindering anything they might understand."_

" _You can go away now."_

Closing her eyes, Wanda rested her head against the desk and breathed deeply. She missed him. She missed him so much.

Why did he have too..

Why did they..

Squinting her eyes tightly together, she pulled herself up and away from the desk, quickly walking out of the room with the sheets in hand.

She couldn't deal with this right now. If that guy wanted to stay here, he could move the boxes. Tugging at her hoodie in a fidgeting manner, she pushed the hair out of her face before walking back into her bedroom and dropping the sheets on her own desk.

Striding over to the window next to her bed, she pushed it up and slid the curtains aside, revealing a metal balcony leading to the ladder of a fire escape.

Stepping over the windowsill and outside, she pushed the window back down most of the way before ascending the staircase, trying to preserve at least some of the heat in her home.

Night had already fallen thanks to the winter weather rapidly descending on them, leaving the woman to walk up the shaking staircase in utter darkness.

Heavy clouds covered the sky with the threat of impending rain, or perhaps snow, and blocked out any stars she might've had a chance to see that evening.

Climbing over the railing to stand on top of the roof, she wrapped her arms around herself and took a deep breath of the winter air.

She never liked the winter season, not really. Had never been a fan of the holidays, either. Once she lost her parents, the holidays just weren't worth celebrating. But the cold air did wonders in clearing her thoughts, and that's what she needed at the moment.

Walking slowly along the top of the roof, she walked past the door allowing access from the staircase inside, already knowing it was locked. The landlord discouraged people from going up there, but she'd found it to be the perfect get away.

Not many people dared to travel up the rickety ladder, but it was worth the risk for the time she got to spend up here, appreciating the sunrises and sunsets.

Settling down on a large metal box housing an air conditioning unit, the woman drew her legs up to her chest once more and wrapped her hands around her arms while staring up at the dark colored sky.

She shouldn't even have a roommate. She needed to get out of that apartment, out of that whole building. It held too many memories for her that were far too painful. She'd tried engrossing herself in her work, but all that had done was result in horrendous stories that Stark had hated.

She didn't have many friends that she could go out with, as they had both shared the same friend group, and that was as painful as going in his room. All they ever wanted to talk about was the two of them, and she couldn't stand having it thrown in her face like that, whether they meant to do so or not. And despite having Uncle Clint, she found she had distancing herself from him after what happened.

Breathing a heavy sigh, she watched her breath turn into a white mist before fading into the night sky moments later.

Pulling the sleeves of her hoodie over her fingers, she rested her hands on the large unit and stretched out, feeling something tumble off the side of the box to the rooftop after accidently pushing it.

Turning her attention to her left, she reached down and picked up the stem of a delicate flower. Holding it closer to her face, intrigued eyes stared at the perfect red rose while snowflakes began to dance down from the sky above.


	6. Chapter Five - Bucky

Snow was one of Bucky's favorite things. The way the flurries danced down to a beat all their own. The nights that seemed infinitely quieter due to the falling flakes. The horizon that glowed the most glorious shade throughout the night. He'd loved the snow ever since he was a child.

However it had been marred for him. What had once been something so full of joy and wonder had become tainted and ugly.

Now, instead of feeling the chilling air against his skin and remembering the snowball fights he and Steve would have on the playground after school, he was forced to remember the agonizing pain and terror that seized his body. Rather than curling his fingers inside his coat to keep warm, snow clung to the metal appendages that echoed his screams and left behind the sound of saws cutting through bone.

Holiday's had become nothing more than an occasion to be reminded that he no longer fit in with his family. A reminder that his sister couldn't bring herself to look his way without an expression of pity befalling her features.

His brother in law who tried hard not to bring his work home, but inevitably relayed tale after tale about the injuries he'd seen and taken care of. Of the soldiers he rehabilitated. And his eyes would skirt around Bucky, remembering that there was still one soldier who had yet to fully return from the field.

A soldier who lived his days in quiet desperation for the sense of normality, and spent his nights curled against the wall, fighting his demons off one by one yet always seeming to fail. This time of year had been a favorite of Bucky's for as long as he could remember before his two tours had left him an empty shell of what he'd once been.

A shell that tried to be human, who tried to laugh and live a sane existence. But ultimately failed when evening fell and the voices crept into his mind. The scenes unfolding before him like a horror movie, and the pain flaring in the metal arm that never should have existed.

But still he continued on. Lived his life, worked his job, went out with Steve when his friend deemed the time was right. He carried on, just as he always had. Because despite everything he had gone through, he was still a soldier, and there was always another mission to complete.

Inhaling a deep breath of the cold air while flurries drifted down and made their home in his hair and on the shoulders of the hoodie he wore, he regretted his decision to not bring his bike to work that morning, having opted instead to have Steve drop him off.

Adjusting the camera bag against his shoulder, a heavy weight settled over him. Loki's words still played throughout his mind, and the look on that woman's face ate away at his being.

He should've helped her. Should've forced Loki to go back and do something, _anything_ , to help find her fiancé. But he hadn't, and it was too late now.

Closing his eyes and tightening his fingers around the black strap, he paused, feeling the winter storm all around him. If he could go back in his life, would he still have signed up to serve his country? Steve had always been the patriotic one, the one willing to die for what was right. Bucky felt strongly about his country as well, but not enough to give his life away for it. All he'd ever really wanted to do was help people.

Scowling, icy colored hues returned and landed on a lone shadowed figure moving quickly into an alley, followed soon after by a second taller one. Frowning in contemplation, the man moved stealthily in the direction they had gone, pressing his body against the brick building while peering down into the alley.

"Give it back, now!

A voice demanded, her tone trying to be stern but fading with fear at the end. The voice sounded familiar, but it was too dark to see clearly who it was.

"You know the rules, lady. You come down our street, you pay a fine."

The owner of the voice that spoke next couldn't have been very old, a snarky edge to his words. Bucky wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but he knew they were attempting to mug the woman in question, and that wasn't going to stand.

"At least give me the keys, take the rest, I don't care!"

She argued, footsteps moving across snow dusted concrete before there was a loud _'thud'_ and the woman cried out. Moving quickly, Bucky strode through the alley, dropping his bag to the side while his eyes immediately scanned the area to scope out what he was dealing with.

Slumped against the wall of a different building was a familiar young woman, her dark hair pulled up while one hand held tightly to her left wrist in a protective manner. It didn't take more than seeing her red rimmed eyes to know exactly who she was, and to curse Loki once more.

Standing across from her and now staring stupidly at the photographer, two teenagers dressed in black with their hoods pulled up to hide their more distinguishing features stood over her in a threatening manner, a purse clutched tightly in one's hands, while a set of keys and a wallet remained in the others.

"Get the hell out of here, this doesn't concern you!"

The smaller of the two shouted, taking a step closer and pulling a knife from behind him, the small blade glimmering faintly in what little light showered in from the neighboring street lamps.

"You think that toy scares me?"

Bucky scoffed, his voice deep and gruff as he strode forwards, reaching out and wrapping metal fingers tightly around the boy's wrist as he dropped Vanessa's belongings.

"What the hell man, get off!"

He yelped, staring with wide eyes at the metal limb as he swiped desperately with his knife. The blade cut through the fabric of the photographer's hoodie before bouncing harmlessly off the Vibranium limb.

"Try again, punk."

Bucky growled, twisting the mugger's wrist around and knocking the knife from his hand.

"We're not kidding, dude, don't try to be a hero."

The taller one warns, throwing the purse to the ground and pulling his own knife out.

"What is this, attack of the first graders?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, letting go of the boy he'd caught and shoving him forwards, leaning back and kicking his boot hard into the boys back and watching with satisfaction as the two kids collided, both falling to the ground in a heap. As the two scrambled to get up, Bucky folded his arms and glared down at them.

"What the hell are you two playing at? You had to know you'd get caught."

"Back off man, you don't wanna mess with the guy we work for!"

The braver of the two snapped, tilting his head and trying to look taller against the soldier.

"Yeah? Actually, I'd love to know who you work for. Give me his name."

Bucky retorted, reaching into his bag and pulling his phone free. Dialing Clint's number and lifting the phone to his ear while staring in annoyance at the boys now standing warily together, a nervous voice answered the phone.

"Barnes? What do you want? There's not a case, is there?"

"I caught two kids trying to mug a young woman. Send someone to pick them up, will ya?"

Bucky sighed, glancing at the two boys again that stood in the corner, eyeing the knives on the ground.

"What? Sure, what's the address, I'll call it in."

"In an alley on Ninth and- don't do it!"

Dropping the phone, the device clattered to the ground as Bucky made a dive for the smaller of the boys. In some desperate attempt to get away, he had retrieved one of the knives and made a beeline for the woman. Was he stupid, or was he actually trying to kill her? Tackling the younger boy to the ground, the taller of the two ran past, leaving behind the purse and his friend.

"Get off me!"

The boy screamed, the hood falling away from his face and revealing a squirming fifteen year old with panic etched across his features as Bucky pinned him to the cold cement.

"Geez, you're just a child."

Bucky mumbled, yanking the boy back up to his feet.

"Look I- quit struggling, will ya? Your friend left you, there's nothing you can do." Bucky sighed, keeping a firm hand around the front of the boy's shirt as he pulled the knife away. "Where the hell'd you even get a hunting knife like this?"

"Let go of me!"

He yelled again, pushing at the arm of the man.

"You heard him, let him go!"

Turning, the taller one stood behind Bucky, the other blade held tightly in his trembling hands.

"Don't do anything stupid, kid; I work for the police department."

The struggling falters as the younger's breath hitched, his eyes widening.

"Markus.. If Thanos-"

"Shut up, Connor! I said let him go!"

The kid yelled again, launching himself at Bucky. Attempting to move out of the way with the other boy still in tow, the soldier managed to get his arm up to protect his chest as the tip of the blade dug into his skin, catching and dragging down the length of his right arm.

Cursing loudly, blood dripped heavily from the wound as Bucky stumbled back, letting go of Connor in the process.

"Go!" The older yelled, backing up a couple of steps and grimacing at the sight of the blood. "I-I'm sorry but.. I had too."

He said weakly, dropping the knife and running after the first boy as Bucky hissed air out between his teeth. Turning to look down at the woman while masking his frustration, Bucky knelt beside her slowly and tilted his head to get a better view of what happened to her.

She had blood dripping down the side of her head from her temple where it looked as though one of the boys had hit her against the wall, and her left wrist looked swollen as she held it tightly to her chest.

"Are you alright?"

Bucky asked softly, Vanessa's eyes looking up to meet his.

"You're bleeding.."

She said quietly, the man's eyes dropping to his arm. Crimson had quickly stained his sleeve, and had left a small amount of blood on the pavement beneath where he had been standing when the boy cut him.

"I-"

He paused, the sound of someone shouting faintly grabbing his attention. Reaching over and picking up his fallen phone, he held it to his ear.

"-get help, but I need you to tell me where you are! Barnes! Answer me, damnit!"

"I'm fine, Clint."

He stated with a heavy breath, adjusting the phone to hold it between his head and shoulder while pressing his hand over the bleeding cut and adding what pressure he could.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You don't just disappear on me like that!"

"Wasn't my intention. Listen, I've got a woman here who needs to get looked at. You able to pick her up, or send an ambulance?"

"Don't worry, I think I found you."

The phone call ended abruptly as Bucky turned, Clint walking through the alley towards them, stopping to pick up the camera bag Bucky had dropped. His clothes were a mess, more so than usual, as if he'd gotten dressed in a hurry and had to dig through his laundry hamper.

"What the hell happened?"

The detective demanded, kneeling down and looking over Vanessa.

"Two stupid kids who thought they could get away with mugging her. They did manage to slip away from me though."

Bucky sighed, rising to his feet and gathering her belongings, careful to keep his blood from ruining the items.

"Good thing you were- shit, Barnes. That your blood?"

Glancing over, Bucky held up his arm with a neutral expression.

"Occupational hazard."

"For a detective maybe but not a crime scene photographer!"

He snapped before what he has said dawned on him.

"Sorry.. Listen, my car is right down the road. I'll take you both to get looked at. Have a feeling you're gonna need some stiches."

Clint stated, offering his hand to the woman and pulling her up slowly.

"Take her, I'll be fine."

"Barnes, you need medical help. You gonna make me force you?"

"I don't do hospitals, Clint, you know that. I can't stand the smell." He murmured, handing the gathered items to the woman and giving her a small smile before turning to face Clint. "I'll be fine, I've dealt with worse."

"I swear to God I will pull rank on you if you don't get in that car."

"How'd you find us so fast?"

The sudden question slips out, an arched brow directed at Clint.

"I was in the area when you called."

"Really? You weren't by chance visiting Tash, were you? Cause I happen to know she lives just a few blocks away. Easy to drive slowly enough on these roads from her place to find us as soon as you did."

The dark red color that encompassed the detective's face is immediate, his words stuttering as he worked to form an explanation.

"Don't talk about me, I won't talk about you."

Bucky offered quietly, the disapproving gaze in the other's eyes evident.

"Fine. But you end up dying of blood loss or an infection, it's not my fault. And make sure you give your statement tomorrow."

He remarked sharply, pulling at the woman's arm to guide her to the car.

"Wait," She asked, moving forwards and taking Bucky's hand tightly in her uninjured one. "Thank you, so much. I don't know what might've happened if you hadn't intervened."

"It was my pleasure." He offered sincerely, squeezing her hand. "Go, get looked at. And don't worry about your fiancé; I'm going to have a talk with that detective."

"Thank you."

Guiding her towards his car, Clint glanced back at the photographer and made a motion to his arm with a stern gaze before he knelt down, picking up the knife carefully with the sleeve of his shirt. Nodding with a faint smirk in response, Bucky watched them leave the alley before he clamped his hand down tighter on his arm, the warm blood contrasting against the chilling air.

Looking down at his feet, various footprints marred the light dusting of snow that had the ground covered, while blood was splattered in different areas from both himself and Vanessa. Staring down at the crimson snow sent pain coursing through his entire being, the man hunching down in his hoodie and turning, walking away while pulling the bag Clint had retrieved for him up and over his shoulder.

Continuing his walk home, his teeth grit against the pain pulsing through his arm. He should've gone to get his arm looked at by a professional, he knew that. But he couldn't bring himself to step inside hospitals anymore.

Not after what happened. Not when the sickening smell of bleach and disinfectants burned at his nose and pulled at his memories. Seeing people lying there, hearing their groans, it reminded him too much of the last time he'd been medically taken care of. Instinctively tightening his left fist at the thoughts, he flinches, the sudden grip over the cut breaking his train of thought and bringing him back to reality.

As the hour changed to the next, Bucky slid his key into the lock of his shared apartment and slipped inside, listening carefully to see if Steve was around. The lack of lights and sound was pleasantly surprising, thankful that his friend wasn't there to hover over the injured individual.

Kicking the door closed with his foot, he hung his camera bag up next to their door as he worked to maneuver the hoodie off without causing himself more pain while simultaneously heading towards the bathroom.

Dropping the cut up and blood covered hoodie to the tiled floor and pushing the door closed behind him; Bucky released his hold on the cut and turned on the overhead lights, casting a better glow on the otherwise dim room.

The cut was long and jagged, stretching from just below the wrist on the outer part of his arm and traveling down and out across the length of his forearm and nearly reaching his elbow. The bleeding had lessoned considerably from earlier, but crimson continued to pool slowly from the open wound the moment he let go.

Cursing quietly to himself, the man began rummaging through the cabinets, looking for anything he could use before digging out the medical kit Steve stored under the sink.

Unfortunately he'd had more than enough experience in the field dealing with medical issues, but he never enjoyed handling them. Ironic, really. With what he'd done those few years, one would think..

Shaking his head and beginning to clean the wound, Bucky sat on the edge of their tub and held his arm steady. He should've called Steve. At the very least he wouldn't have had to try to clean his dominant arm up himself.

Cleaning up the smeared blood on his skin, he found the cut wasn't as bad as it had previously looked, opting for the medical tape rather than the thread and needle he had no interest in screwing around with. As he worked to keep the open wound pushed together long enough to secure the pieces of tape, his mind wandered back to the two boys.

Who exactly was Thanos? And why had the younger of the two looked so scared when Bucky mentioned working for the police? Leaning closer and focusing on the middle of the cut, the man jumped as his phone buzzed on the counter.

' _You check out that apartment yet? She's waiting for you, so don't take too long.'_

Rolling his eyes, the man returned to his arm, securing the next piece of tape as his phone went off again.

' _Tell me what you think of the place, and of her.'_

"For God's sake, Steve."

He muttered, continuing along the cut until he had closed it as best he could. He wasn't as steady with his left hand, but he had always managed to make it work in the past, and this was no different. Pulling a roll of gauze from out of the medical kit, he wrapped the wound slowly, keeping the pressure steady but not so tight as to cut off circulation.

Shoving the various items back into the containers and pushing the box back under the sink when he was finished, he picked up his hoodie and grimaced, staring at the ripped sleeve stained in his blood. He'd have to throw it out, opting for the loss of a sweatshirt rather than the questions from Steve if he threw it in the hamper.

Using the black fabric to wipe up the smudged blood he'd left on the floor and sink, he tossed the article of clothing in the trash without another thought and washed his bloodied hands off. It didn't look bad anymore, the pristine white gauze covering the damage and appearing as nothing more than a minor injury that might've been caused by any ordinary accident.

But it wasn't just ordinary, it had been something incredible. It was frustrating that the real cops wouldn't do anything to help people, but he'd made a difference helping Vanessa, and it made him beam at the very thought of it.

That's all he'd ever wanted from his life. From signing up to fight, to being abducted, to joining the police. He just wanted to help people wherever he was. And for the first time since he'd been found, he felt like he really had.

Slipping his phone into the pocket of his jeans, the man made his way into the living room, and rummaged through a few of his bags before he pulled a dark coat out and tugged it on over his t shirt. Walking back towards the door, he grabbed his keys to the apartment and his helmet, walking outside and making a beeline for the black motorcycle parked near the side of the building.

Climbing on and kicking back the stand, he revved the engine and smiled, pulling the helmet on firmly.

Steve always berated him for not having a car to drive in weather like this, but he felt more comfortable on his bike. Pulling out onto the street and reciting the address in his head, he picked up speed and felt the cold air beat against the coat and his hands, weaving between the evening traffic expertly.

He hated cars. He was fine letting Steve drive, mostly because he trusted the man explicitly. But cars were confined, made it hard for him to breathe. He couldn't stand being locked up, forced into a situation where there was no exit directly at hand. And personally, he'd never been a fan of jumping out of a moving vehicle doing seventy on the freeway.

Turning down one of the streets, his phone buzzed against his side again, and he sighed loudly. Steve wasn't going to let up on this. He was eager for Bucky to finally get up, get out, meet new people and move on with his life.

Didn't Steve get it? It wasn't that easy. The war had done enough to him. Caused enough nightmares. Brandished enough screams. But the three years after that? He shuddered just thinking about it.

He refused to talk about the things that occurred. Had spent months holed up doing nothing, finding it difficult to adjust back like nothing happened. It wasn't until he'd been kicked out of his apartment that he finally started working on piecing his life back together again. Started going to work regularly, moved in with Steve. Failed the psych evaluation..

Turning again onto a darker street now, Bucky's eyes scanned the apartment buildings until he found the correct one, pulling his bike into an empty space and letting it idle as he pulled the helmet off.

Steve had said she lived on the third floor, on the east end of the building. He could see an old looking fire escape barely clinging to that side, and wondered momentarily how difficult that would be to climb, and how dangerous.

Turning off the engine and climbing off his bike, the photographer pulled his helmet under his arm and began ascending the outside staircase covered in a soft layer of virgin snow.

What exactly was this woman like? In all of their texting back and forth, Steve never said who she was, what she did, or even how he met her. She wasn't another journalist, was she?

Grimacing at the very thought, the man climbed the last stair and walked to the door, his hand reaching up and rapping lightly against the wood.

Would she be crazy? Or one of those super anal chicks that needed to have everything in a certain place? How would she even feel about a guy for a roommate? His mind had come up with a thousand and one different scenarios before the door swung open, and he was left staring down at a young woman at least half a foot shorter than he was.

"Can I help you?"

The soft undertones of a Sokovian accent is heard in the lilt of her words, curious green eyes staring up at him as she peered through her partially cracked door.

"Are you Wanda Maximoff?"

He questioned, adjusting the helmet in his arms as she barely nodded her head.

"Yes, and you are?"

"James Barnes," He stated, offering out his hand to her. "I'm here about the extra room."


	7. Chapter Six - Wanda

Tugging anxiously at the sleeves of her sweatshirt, Wanda's eyes moved to the clock hanging on the wall across from her. Steve had said that guy would be there tonight, but it was nearing nine thirty, and she hadn't even gotten a text or a call saying whether or not he was still planning on showing up.

Slumping back against the cushions of the couch, emerald orbs glare with irritation at the illuminated computer screen resting on the coffee table reminding her of her impending deadline.

Had it been any other crime spree, she would've been able to spin a wondrous tale about it. Perhaps the robberies were linked to the mafia, making their mark known on the rich and greedy. Or a surfacing drug ring that was rising in the underbelly of the city, selling off the stolen items to fund their rapidly growing empire.

But each time she started to flesh out any of those ideas, a gnawing presence rose in her stomach, and she found herself deleting the lies. Why did it have to be this particular crime that she had been assigned? Why was this particular story the one that her entire career hinged upon?

Closing her eyes and groaning, her hands covered her face and pressed down over her eyes. She needed to sleep for a couple of years just to deal with all the stress that was piling on top of her. Everything was falling apart, and it wasn't something she could just overlook anymore.

Sitting up slowly, she pushed herself up from the couch and walked towards the kitchen before a sharp rapping on the door had her turning. Walking over and pulling open the heavy door as much as the strung across chain lock would allow, she found herself staring at a broad chest. Her gaze traveled higher until she was staring at eyes the color of frost on an early morning window.

"Can I help you?"

She asked, her tone timid and soft as the large figure standing in front of her door towered over her.

"Are you Wanda Maximoff?"

His voice was deep and smooth, and she found her heart beginning to beat faster as a dangerous notion crept inside her head. Could he be?

"Yes, and you are?"

She arched a brow at him, glancing down as he began to move and spotting a motorcycle helmet tucked up under one arm as he reached out, extending a hand out to her.

"James Barnes, I'm here about the extra room."

Catching her breath, Wanda barely nodded her head, closing the door while sliding the chain free before pulling it open and standing aside, making room for him to walk in.

He was at least half a foot taller than she was, and as she closed the door behind him, she found her eyes moving to his left hand in fascination.

The awkward tension was suffocating as she clasped her hands together, keeping a couple of steps behind him as his eyes traveled around the room before landing on the open computer on her table.

"Sorry to come so late, I got caught up at work."

He apologized, shifting on his feet as Wanda shook her head vigorously.

"N-No, it's alright. I can take your coat, if you want. I tend to keep the heat up rather high."

She offered, walking up to him cautiously. She had been so afraid of a reclusive hermit, she'd never considered the fact that Steve had military friends too, and that they would be, well, this intimidating.

He had long dark hair that hit his shoulders, and with those icy hues watching her every move, she felt rather out of place in her own home.

"Sure."

He said, and for a moment, she swore she could see a look of nervousness on his face before the stoic nature returned.

Handing her the helmet, he pulled off the heavy leather jacket and passed it to her, watching as she folded it carefully over her arm and laid the two items on the table.

Turning back around, she felt her face flushing, warmth creeping up her neck and flooding into her cheeks as she stared at him. He wore a black short sleeved shirt, and his arms, well, they were huge.

Emerald orbs skimmed over his right arm, lingering momentarily on a white bandage stretched over a majority of the skin, before she is stuck staring at the left appendage, the metal gleaming faintly in the soft light.

"Spacious."

He remarked, looking around, seemingly oblivious to her prying stares as he made his way into the dining room.

Swallowing thickly, Wanda trailed after him and wrung her fingers together anxiously.

"Yeah.. Uhm, there's two bedrooms, each on opposite ends of the hall. Kind've an open concept thing with the living room and kitchen area. And there are two bathrooms, each adjoining the bedrooms."

She explained, forcing her eyes to look anywhere but at him now, afraid of being rude with her incessant staring.

"I'm guessing Steve never told you."

"What?"

Turning, the man is practically on top of her with how close she'd stepped, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he stared down at her.

"About _this_ ,"

He stated, holding his arm up as a wary look passed through his eyes.

"You seem very unnerved by it, so I'm assuming Steve didn't tell you."

"N-No, he didn't. But i-it's fine, really."

She stuttered out, holding her hands up and backing up a step, wanting more space between them while trying to give him some kind of reassurance. He took notice of the way she pulled away from him as he took a step back himself.

"Did he tell you we served in the military together?"

Wanda shook her head slightly, though she had guessed that was where they might've met. He didn't seem like the kind of person Steve would have met in an art store.

"Two tours." He bobbed his head, lowering his arm and shoving his hands in his pockets, flinching ever so slightly at the movement of his bandaged arm. "Steve came away from it with three medals, and I came back with this."

The wry laugh and bitter tone worried the woman, but what concerned her more was the way the man stared at the floor, like he was recalling something from his time there. Steve never said why he was looking for a place, or why he was leaving their shared apartment. Was James still stuck in the past?

"I didn't realize they had such advanced technology overseas." She spoke quietly, her head moving to one side as she looked at the way his arm was crafted so meticulously. "What happened?"

The question left her before she could think better of herself, and she regretted it the moment she saw the broken expression he wore.

"I-I mean-"

"You said the bedrooms were over that way?"

The abrupt change in topic is followed by James turning and walking towards the hall, leaving the woman standing frozen, her mouth open mid apology.

"R-Right, yeah."

She nodded, trailing behind him while mentally berating herself. What was she thinking? The guy had a fully working prosthetic arm that he got while overseas. Of _course_ he wouldn't want to talk about it.

"Over there is mine," She pointed, slipping ahead of him and pushing open the second door, reaching in and flipping on the light before moving out of the way. "And this is the other."

She had managed to put a couple of the boxes into her own room after returning from the top of the roof, but her resolve had crumbled the moment she'd found an old photo.

"The last tenant didn't want their stuff?"

James questioned, stepping inside and looking around, walking in further to look at the bathroom and peer into the closet.

"It's uhm, kind've complicated. But all this can be put into storage if you decide you like the place."

She shrugged, biting down on her bottom lip while watching him walk around. After a couple of minutes he stopped next to the window, peering out at the fire escape.

"That work?"

"The ladder? Yeah, but it's a bit rickety and it only connects to my window, not to mention the landlord discourages roof access, so it's probably best to pretend it's not there."

The way she said it indicates he'll never step foot out there, and he seemed to gather that message as he pulled away and turned to face her.

"It's a nice place you've got here. Why the sudden opening?"

Wrapping her arms around herself, Wanda let out an awkward laugh.

"Oh, you know. This and that. So what do you think, you like it?"

"Yeah, it's nice. Further from work than I'd like, but it shouldn't be bad."

"Right, Steve mentioned you worked for the police. You're like, a crime scene person right?"

"Forensic photographer, actually. I go in, take pictures of everything. Not really exciting but you know."

He shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets again.

"Steve never actually told me what it is you do, or how you guys met."

"Oh, really? I thought he would've. We work at the paper together."

The moment the words leave her mouth he is shaking his head, a scoff leaving him.

"Is that a problem?"

"What? No, sorry."

He shakes his head again, his shoulders relaxing as the annoyed look is replaced by an amused smirk.

"Steve and I just had a constant ongoing fight over him trying to dig stories out of me, and I told him when I moved out I would never room with a journalist again. I'm just finding this all quite ironic now."

"Don't worry," She laughed, brushing a stray hair out of her eyes while smiling up at him. "I already have my own connections. My Godfather actually works as a detective."

"Really? What's his name, maybe I know him."

"Clint Barton."

She said, watching the smirk transform into a sudden, and rather brief, grin.

"Damn. Never knew he had a kid. Or a Godchild. Course he's not really forth coming with his personal life. I do know him though, great guy. Good cop, too. He helped me land a job there."

Wanda nodded in understanding, skimming her fingers over the desk and forcing her eyes away from the man.

"He's a great man. He's helped me through a lot."

She murmured, her voice falling at the end of her sentence. Clint had been there through it all. She wouldn't be where she was had it not been for what he'd done for her. For _them_. And now..

What would it be like to have someone else living there? All her memories, all her laughs, they took place there. And they all took place with _him_.

"You okay?"

Glancing up, Wanda blinked quickly, forcing the moisture out of her eyes.

"I'm fine. So, do you think you'll want to live here?"

Her voice is softer than before, working to mask the emotion that was building the longer she stayed in the room.

"Yeah, I mean it's nice. Are the walls pretty thick? I work odd hours and I don't want to wake you up if I come home late or leave early."

She nearly laughed at his question, unable to fully explain the odd hours she herself now kept.

"Fairly thick. I'm a light sleeper though, I wake up to even the crickets outside, so there's no need to worry about that."

She offered, running her hands down her arms.

"Is there anything else I need to know, or do?"

He asked, and as her eyes look up at his face, she sees for the first time the way he avoids looking at her as well as the darker colored tint across his own face. Was he feeling as awkward as she was? That was a relief, actually.

He seemed nice enough, like he wouldn't cause any trouble. She had been nervous about him working for the police, but a photographer couldn't even be considered a cop, could they?

"I don't think so. I'd ask for references, but Steve boasted about you so much that I don't think any you had would even compare."

She laughed, resting her arms over her chest and smiling gently at him.

"I'll have a key for you made tomorrow, and you can move in at any point after that. I have a folder with all the rent payments and utilities, as well as a parking space cost. Rent is due on the fourth of every month, but the landlord is pretty nice about giving a couple days extension if you're behind."

She explained, walking out of the room and back towards the kitchen to retrieve the packet she had made up for him.

"The neighbors are fairly quiet, and no one even lives in the room next door, but there are a couple of guys below us you should be careful of. Kind of sketchy, but harmless so far. They claim to be brothers, and that's their Impala parked in the corner. If you have any trouble with them, or any of the tenants, I can file a report to the landlord."

She is talking rapidly, trying to recall all the information she had been going over in her head for weeks now, and suddenly finding herself falling short of everything she wanted to say.

"Any questions?"

She asked, turning and holding out the file for him.

"I don't think so. You said that stuff in the room can go in storage?"

"Mhm."

She murmured, her fingers fidgeting with one another.

"Well then, Wanda Maximoff, it's been a pleasure. I'll see you tomorrow."

He stated, a genuine smile rising to his lips as he pulled on his jacket, scooping up his helmet and the file together.

"It has, James Barnes."

She chuckled, watching him walk towards the door while following behind.

"Tell me something," He began, opening the door and stepping outside, snow falling gently from the sky once more and creating a beautiful backdrop behind him. "What were you expecting, when Steve told you about me I mean?"

Pressing her lips together, Wanda laughed weakly, running her fingers over the back of her neck.

"That bad, huh?"

The man smirked as Wanda shook her head quickly.

"No! Nothing bad. I mean.. I thought you might be a recluse is all."

She shrugged, watching his smirk waver a moment.

"I am."

He admitted, much to her surprise.

"I also had the fear you'd be, well, rather messy."

She said quietly, the discomfort audible in her tone as he laughed.

"Now that you don't have to worry about. Even if I were, I don't have very much to lie around. Steve's more of the messy one. I promise, Wanda, half the time you won't even know I'm here." He promised, stepping back and further out into the cold night. "See you later."

He winked, turning around and walking towards the steps before descending, leaving the woman watching him until he disappeared from sight.

Closing the door slowly and leaning her back against it, the conversations raced through her mind as her face grew warmer.

"Oh my God.." She whispered, her body sliding down the door until she hit the floor, her hands rising to her face. "Oh my God! I can't believe I said that!"

She groaned, the back of her head bumping against the door. He had been so nice, and she had just babbled like an idiot. Why had she asked about his arm? Why had she rambled on about those strange men below them? Why would he want to share a place with someone like her?

Sliding her fingers down her face until she was staring across the room where she could see the light filtering onto the floor from the other bedroom, her heart dropped in her chest.

There was no going back now even if James did think she was an idiot. She'd officially given his room away. God.. She felt like such an ass now.. Like she'd just given up hope completely.

Reaching into the pocket of her sweatshirt, she pulled out the folded photo she'd discovered earlier, the edges worn and the quality fading. Despite all of that, she could still plainly make out the two teenagers standing there.

One was her, during the era of her worst hairstyle choice ever. And next to her was a young man, with dark silvery hair, and bright hazel colored eyes staring teasingly at the camera. He looked so much like her it hurt, her slim fingers reaching out and skimming over the boy's face carefully.

"I miss you.."

She murmured, her head bowing while tears burned her eyes as the picture bent towards her, revealing quickly scrawled writing on the back.

' _Wanda and Pietro, twins' sixteenth birthday'_


	8. Chapter Seven - Bucky

He had always thought Steve's messes were bad. But standing in their apartment waist deep in boxes, he was left wondering whether his statement to Wanda had been true or not. How was it possible he owned so much stuff?

"Bucky!"

"What?"

He called back, reaching down and shoving a box to the side while scooping up a pile of clothes. There was a moment of hesitation before he dropped the whole pile inside, letting it bunch together in a large ball at the bottom of the box.

"What's another word for garbage?"

Jerking his head up, Bucky shoved aside another pile and stumbled towards the kitchen, sticking his head through the door and stared down at his best friend. Sprawled across their small table were several open books, papers with unreadable scrawl, and in the middle of it all was Steve, his laptop open in front of him.

"I'm writing a review for that local play and I have run out of nice things to say about it."

"How much of the article have you finished?"

"About three sentences?"

Steve grimaced, turning to look up at his friend. The man can't help but smirk at the blonde, whose hair stuck up at odd angles, whose eyes looked tired and taped open, and who had the obvious scent of a coffee high.

"Steve, stop writing reviews, they just make you hate yourself."

"I know!"

He moaned, dropping wearily on top of his computer and groaning.

"But Stark keeps sending them my way. But that play, Buck? It was horrible! No one knew their lines; they kept tripping over each other. One character was missing, and they used a chair as a stand in!"

Chuckling, Bucky leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest as he hummed quietly.

"Well, you could review it as a comedy?"

"It was about the Civil War, pal."

"Hey, I'm sure people had fun, even during that time!"

"Bucky.."

Steve whined, drawing his friends name out while peering up at him from his keyboard, reminding Bucky strongly a sad golden retriever.

"Fine.."

He grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed.

"Write about.. Their lively performance. They were incredibly uh.." Clearing his throat, his frown echoed Steve's. "Powerful. Their performance really touched everyone. It was something entirely unique in its own respect, and introduced characters in a new and intriguing light."

Bucky shrugged, Steve's eyes narrowing.

"Already wrote that. And I was incredibly redundant as well."

"Well, aren't reviews supposed to be truthful? Just be honest."

"Damnit.. That's what I hate about them! I don't want to be mean about them, but there's really nothing nice left to be said."

"Tear them down, punk. Rip em' to shreds."

"Get out."

Steve scowled, shoving at his friends arm as Bucky laughed, walking back into the other room and kicking another box. Dropping down to the floor and crossing his legs, Bucky leaned forward and sighed, staring at the piles still surrounding him.

"Can I just keep my stuff here?"

He called out, picking up a book and turning it to read the back cover.

"Sure, if you plan on paying rent for it all."

Steve shot back, a long, drawn out breath leaving the man as he halfheartedly flipped the book inside the top of the box.

"See? Be that savage with your review and you'll be fine!"

Bucky called back, reaching out and pulling over a wooden box. The smile he wore from teasing Steve began to fade as his fingers came to rest on top of the dark lid. He hadn't pulled this out, had he? He had forgotten he had even brought it with him when he moved in. Hadn't he stuffed it somewhere no one would find it?

It's more of an automatic reaction than anything else as he lifted the lid at a slow pace, his brows drawing together at the objects sitting neatly inside. It felt like he was being transported to another world, sitting there and staring at the mementoes he'd hidden away.

Pictures and journals stuffed with worn pages. Scraps of ripped papers with a broken scrawl written hastily against them. Rifling through the stacks, it was like drifting into another life. One he never wanted to remember.

"Buck, you hear me? I said that if I- Bucky?"

Glancing up and closing the lid sharply, neither man spoke as concerned blue hues stared intently at the box in his hands as Bucky carefully sat it inside the box of clothes.

"When was the last time you opened that?"

Steve asked quietly, Bucky's eyes diverting, now understanding why it had been sitting with his other things instead of tucked away in the wall.

"Not since I got back."

"Buck, you told me the dreams had stopped."

"They have. Mostly.."

He trailed off, leaning back against the couch and drawing his knees up, resting his arms over each one.

Had Steve heard him in the night? He thought he had gotten better at controlling them, but memories still surfaced, and it was hard to force them away.

"Look, pal, we talked about this before. I know this guy you can talk too-"

"Steve, no." Buck snapped, his tone sharp as he stared at his friend. "I've told you before; I don't want to relive it."

"But you do anyway! I've seen some of your journals, Buck."

Sitting up, a look of disgust clouded the brunette's features.

"First of all, you have no right to invade my privacy. Second of all, you of _all_ people should know why I don't want to talk to a stranger about what happened."

"Then don't talk to a stranger, talk to me."

Steve pleaded, his head dropping as a sigh echoed out of him.

"I was in the middle of that war too, pal."

"Yeah? You got to come home after it was over. I spent another three years in hell."

Bucky muttered, reaching inside the box and picking up a thin booklet, pages sticking out of the sides and various photographs plastered on the front.

"Buck, you can't keep shoving this down. It's been almost a year, isn't it time to start coming to terms with what happened?"

Scowling, Bucky stood, shoving the book at Steve before stalking into the other room.

"You come to terms with what happened, I already told you I'm fine."

"Buck, come on, Bucky!"

The door to Steve's room slammed closed as the Soldier inhaled a trembling breath, closing his eyes and trying to focus before rummaging around in the blondes closet for the last of his things. Maybe it was a good thing he was leaving after all.

Kneeling down and shoving aside a suitcase and a box of blankets, Bucky pulled out a small box with crumpled sides and what looked like a large indent from someone punching it. Pulling it free from the rest of the mess, he sat it in front of him and stared at it with a frown.

He'd asked Steve to throw this out. How long had it been here, so close to him? How long had Steve lied to him, promising him that it had been taken care of?

"Come to terms with it my ass."

He grumbled, pulling open the flaps and peering inside. His stomach knotted painfully as his fingers pulled out the dog tags lying carefully on top of a mound of fabric. Steve had found them in the snow, after their last mission. He could still see the dried blood in the smallest of crevices that his friend had missed in his attempt to clean them.

His hands shook as he set them aside, reaching in and pulling out his old uniform, the fabric reeking of soap. It had been washed over and over again, but the damage was still done. He could still see the tear in the chest and the way the fabric had been torn off with his arm.

Dropping the clothes and breathing shallowly, Bucky pushed the box away and closed his eyes, working hard to calm the waves that were threatening to overtake him. He'd blocked out so much of what happened, yet the memories still found a way to slither back inside his mind at the worst moments. A broken toy soldier.. Maybe Loki had been right.

Why hadn't Steve gotten rid of it all like he'd asked? Why was it all still there, shoving itself in his face? The stench of blood and bleach overwhelmed the man as he shoved himself away, his back hitting the wall as heavy breaths escaped him.

A cold wave drenched his body, and he could feel a throbbing in his left arm that felt like it grew worse with every passing moment and every labored gasp. Pain and agony and fire, consuming his entire being. Screams full of tear filled begging.

He shuddered as a man stood over him, staring down with a cruel expression. How had this happened? He'd worked so hard, he'd put so much distance between himself and them. Hydra was gone. He was safe.

Yet the figure moved closer, a snarl widening on a face as black as night, the only color from the crimson blood that dripped from its maw and landed at the Soldier's feet.

No. He wouldn't go back. He wouldn't go through that again. He refused. He was pinned, stuck against a wall with nothing in reach except-

Surging forwards and grabbing ahold of his dog tags, the Soldier leapt to his feet. The ghoul turned to follow him as Bucky rose, his leg extending out and catching the creature in its knees. As the beast fell, a wail echoed from its lips that sounded like everything the solider feared. Misery and horror woven through the scream as the man pushed himself forward, wrapping the chains around the creature's neck and pulling them tight, cutting the wail off entirely.

The ghoul fought back, long claws digging into the soldiers forearm as he bit back a groan, feeling the wound on his arm from the previous night rip open again, blood seeping through his sleeve. But he wouldn't lose, he couldn't.

After everything that had happened, he wouldn't go back. He refused to be toyed with like a puppet again, strings pulling and forcing him into horrid acts he relived night and day.

There's an inhuman strength within the creature as it lashed to and from, shaking the Soldier with all of its might. The man tightened the tags, feeling the creature beginning to weaken as a name drifted past its dripping maw.

"..Bucky.."

It's that single word, that one name that stopped him, that made him hesitate. It sounded like his friend.

Full of heartache and pain and self-inflicted torture. Pleading and begging for him to remember. That was his mistake.

A sharp blow landed against his chest, knocking the Soldier away and across the room as something shattered next to him. Struggling to his feet, the man lunged towards the staggering creature, determined to finally take it down as sharp talons latched onto his shoulders and sent him flying against the wall, his head knocking against a dresser, and submerging him in darkness.

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

"Bucky? Wake up. Come on, pal."

Frost colored eyes drug open, staring up in confusion at a familiar blonde face and concerned blue hues.

"What happened? You haven't gotten this bad in months."

Is all the individual asks. It took Bucky a moment to register a throbbing in his head, and a cool cloth pressed against his face as Steve knelt awkwardly in front of his friend. He couldn't tell if it was the shadows or not, but he had bruises along his neck where it looked like someone had-

"Oh God."

Bucky murmured, pulling away and pushing himself back from Steve as the realization of what happened struck him.

"Buck, it's fine."

"Oh God, I almost killed you."

He croaked out, reaching up and pushing the hair from his face and wincing, pulling his hand away to stare at the dots of crimson smeared across his palm.

"You hit your head when I knocked you back. I'm not sure what happened to your arm though."

"How can you be so calm?"

The man asked hoarsely, unable to meet the others eye.

"I almost killed you."

"In your defense, you didn't know it was me. I know what the signs look like, I should've backed off."

He said quietly, a guilty look scrawled on his face as he held the rag carefully in his hand.

"You can't blame yourself for this."

Bucky shook his head, closing his eyes tightly and breathing shallowly.

"You can't blame yourself, either."

Steve offered, his footsteps shuffling as he knelt next to his friend again.

"Buck, look at me." Forcing his eyes to focus on Steve's, he felt the rag press against the cut once again. "You've been put under a lot of stress recently, with moving, and Fury calling you more than usual. You need to take a break, and get yourself back together."

Wincing at the pressure suddenly added, he exhaled slowly.

"This was supposed to be under control."

Is all he could muster, his voice barely audible as horrified eyes flickered to the floor, spotting a lamp broken on the other side of the room.

"Bucky, you know it doesn't work like that. Frankly pal, I think you're lucky you've held out this long without another episode. You need to talk to someone. I don't care if you want to talk to me, a professional, or some stranger off the street. But please, you need to stop shoving it down."

Reaching up and pulling Steve's hand away, he grabbed the rag and stared down at the crimson colored spot with disdain.

".. I don't know if I _can_ talk about it.."

"Buck-"

"Three years, punk. Three _years_ of hell. Of having my mind screwed with," He started, gripping the rag so tightly water trickled across his hand. "If I start talking about it now, if I start allowing myself to remember, I don't know if I'll come back from that."

He muttered, his head jerking up as Steve's hand gripped his wrist.

"You don't have to deal with this alone, though. What happened wasn't your fault, even as much as you blame yourself. It isn't."

"You weren't there!"

His voice raised, panic threaded into his words as he pulled away and stumbled up, staring down at his friend while shaking his head back and forth quickly.

"You didn't go through what I went through!"

"I went to war, Buck, I understand what that can do."

He said carefully, standing up as Bucky gripped at his head.

"It's not the same! I don't give a damn about the war!"

He yelled, his breathing coming out in panicked hitches, his entire body trembling as the memories slammed against him, an endless barrage of waves threatening to overtake him at any moment.

"They were in my head, Steve! They screwed with my thoughts and my memories! I did things that-"

His voice cracked, his hands pulling away as tears streamed down his face, the final wave crashing over him.

"I killed people.. Innocent people. Their blood is on my hands. Every time I close my eyes I see their faces.. I see their eyes.. Accusing and blaming and.." He whispered, clenching his left fist tightly. "And this stupid arm is a reminder every damned day that they still control a piece of me. That I can't escape them."

He scoffed, staring at the floor through his blurry vision.

"Bucky-"

"They tortured me, Steve. Over and over again." He said quietly, stopping Steve's words immediately. "They used to take this whip, covered in small barbs that would dig into the skin and.."

He trailed off, hearing the sharp breath his friend took as Bucky laughed wryly. He'd forgotten that Steve had never known about the intricate details. In the beginning, Bucky had never wanted to relive and acknowledge that any of it happened.

Sure, Steve had seen the layers of scars he had, but he never asked about them. And after they were living together, he hadn't been able to admit to the things that had happened. The things that haunted his every dream and every nightmare. The things that plagued his every waking moment.

"You know I could give a damn about what we saw during the war. The men who were killed in front of us. The explosions, the carnage." Sinking down to the bed, Bucky stared blankly across the room. "None of that compared to the new things they'd find every day."

He said, his head tilting a bit to one side. He was already regretting talking about it now, he could practically feel the pity radiating from his friend, and it made him sick.

"Bucky, why didn't you ever tell me?"

Steve questioned softly, sitting down next to his friend as Bucky scoffed, his hands clenching and unclenching.

"How do you start a conversation like that, Steve? Yeah great weather we're having, by the way, I felt every second of my arm being sawed off so they could fit their own creation on instead."

Grimacing, the blonde closed his eyes and shook his head.

"This was something I could've helped you through, Buck."

"No, it's really not."

He grumbled, his phone beginning to vibrate inside his pocket. Pulling out the small device, Bucky let out a sigh and rose, making his way towards the door.

"Another case?"

"Fury. There's a crime scene they want me at immediately."

Bucky nodded, grabbing the door and pulling it open, his eyes stuck on the doorframe.

"You were wrong, punk."

"About what?"

"Talking," Bucky muttered, glancing at his friend with a reproachful stare. "All it did was dredge up the past."

o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

"What are we looking at here?"

Clint yawned loudly, doing nothing to cover the rude gesture as he knelt down, staring at the single red rose left in the place of a prized figurine.

"Be professional, Clint, I beg of you."

Natasha huffed, standing next to him with her arms folded across her chest.

"Barnes! There you are, get over here!"

Fury barked, Bucky's eyes turning towards him in surprise as he lowered his camera.

"Chief."

He nodded respectfully, caught off guard at seeing the man at a crime scene where a body wasn't lying on the floor.

Nick Fury was the type of guy you would see sitting alone in a booth at the very back of the bar, with shadows covering half of him and giving off that aura that you didn't want to wait around and see who he was meeting with. Though that feeling might also be because the man dressed in black regardless of the occasion, and always wore an eye patch over his left eye.

No one ever talked about it to his face, but Bucky had heard the stories and rumors about what might've happened. No one dared to ask the man, however, which only resulted in wilder tales every time. Most of them courtesy of a drunken Clint at the Christmas party.

"The hell happened to you?"

He demanded as Bucky shifted, thankful for his hair falling over the worst of what had happened. He'd managed to rewrap his arm, and clean the remainder of the blood from his head before going, but there was a bruise along his cheek, and a long cut trailing through it, not to mention the darkened circles beneath his eyes from his most recent string of sleepless nights.

"Accident at the gym."

He shrugged lightly, his hands fidgeting with his camera as the older man stared harshly with a single gleaming eye.

"Barton told me about what happened last night."

"He did?"

Bucky questioned, already expecting the lecture as an arm suddenly draped over him and Clint was standing beside him.

"Yep, told him how you witnessed a mugging, and helped the poor woman. But you had already had a long day and didn't want to go back to the police station with her, so you called me."

He grinned, his arm tightening a fraction before releasing him as Bucky smiled.

"It wasn't really anything."

"I don't know what the hell you two are hiding, but save it. Barnes, I appreciate what you did helping that woman. But you aren't a cop, so leave those things to the ones who carry guns."

He stated, narrowing his eye at the man before stalking out of the room, barking out orders for an officer to follow him.

"Yes sir."

Bucky muttered under his breath, glowering after Fury as Clint patted his shoulder.

"Lucky I overheard, who knows what he might've done if he knew what really happened. How's your arm?"

"It's fine."

Bucky mumbled, readjusting his camera.

"What happened to your face? I don't remember seeing that."

"It's nothing. What happened tonight, why is Fury here?"

"The thief was almost caught."

"What?"

"Apparently the guy who owns this suite came home earlier then expected from some party cause of food poisoning. Caught the thief as they were jumping out the window."

"Wait, that one?" Bucky frowned, walking over to the partially opened window and staring out of it. "Clint, that's four stories down. No one could survive that kind of drop."

"Maybe not, unless they were magic."

"Not this theory again, please!"

Natasha groaned, walking over to the two men and glaring at her partner.

"I had to listen to this already tonight, don't make me suffer through it again."

"Tonight? Tonight was supposed to be your night off, wasn't it?"

Bucky asked innocently, watching the redheads eyes widen a fraction as her lips pressed together tightly.

"I need to talk to Fury."

She mumbled, walking away quickly as Clint sighed.

"Really, was that necessary?"

"C'mon, tell me this crazy idea of yours."

Bucky urged, turning back around and taking pictures of the open glass and along the floor where the carpet had caught one of the thief's footprints.

"Okay, the thief? Can fly."

"Fly?"

Bucky laughed, glancing up and spotting the offended look on the detective's face as he quickly sobered his expression.

"Flying, right. Great idea."

"Shut up and listen, Barnes," Clint grumbled, folding his arms and looking at the window in thought. "All these buildings, they're pretty high up, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Somehow, they mix themselves in with the regulars. Maybe as the work staff, maybe as someone else."

"Then couldn't they do that going back, too?"

"With what they've stolen? No way! But, if they leapt out the window, maybe across the roof and to the different side of the building where no one is quite as suspicious, they could get down from there."

"No offense, Clint, but that's a pretty farfetched idea."

"Maybe, but not if they were magic. Like a witch, or an escape artist!"

"Yeah.. Sure."

Bucky shrugged, letting his camera drop against his chest as he glanced to where the rose was, desperate to change the subject.

"What about those, do you guys have any leads on the flowers?"

"Besides the fact that they're practically immaculate? No. But you'll notice they're gaining speed in their robberies."

"You're right. Wasn't the span of time two weeks between the last two?"

"And now it's been three days," Clint nodded. "It's like they're gaining confidence because they know they're not going to be caught."

"It's strange, I'll admit," Bucky murmured, a frown settling over his features as he knelt next to the flower. "Have we considered a woman?"

He asked quietly, reaching out with metal fingers and lifting the rose by its stem, holding it up into the light.

"Barnes, the evidence-"

"Won't be screwed up, no fingerprints." He promised, looking up at Clint now. "But really? Have we considered a woman?"

"It would make sense, I suppose, and we have been toying with that idea." Clint sighed, tilting his head. "Walk me through your theory."

"The whole flower thing, first of all," Bucky stated, slipping the flower into an evidence bag someone offered before he is standing again. "The things they're stealing, they're not the most expensive things in here. But they're light weight, and easily carried."

"As if it were someone small in stature."

Clint nodded, urging the photographer to continue.

"Exactly. And these windows, and the ones at the first crime scene too, they're small. A larger man would have trouble slipping through those, especially with his hands full, and in a hurry from trying not to be caught."

"Maybe it's a smaller guy?"

"Then why leave the flower? It obviously signifies something to the thief, and it's typically women who try to speak through flowers."

"But why leave the flowers in the first place?"

"Maybe in a way, they're asking for help?"

Bucky offered, Clint's head shaking.

"No, I think it's a way of showing off. Look at me, I haven't been caught. Hey look, it's the same person, here again."

"Could be."

Bucky murmured, his fingers tapping lightly against his camera in thought as Clint grabbed his shoulder.

"Listen, I'm going to find Nat, see what she thinks about all this. Shout before you leave?"

"Sure."

He nodded, watching the detective walk off in search of his partner. Glancing out the window, his eyes narrowed at the way the roof dipped down, creating a gentle slope before changing to the straight exterior of the building.

Walking closer and leaning outside, his eyes scan the area as he turns his head to the right. Gripping the sill and leaning further, he can just make out a thin ledge mostly hidden from view due to the overhang. A small ledge just close enough he could make out the single red rose petal left behind, caught against the corner of a brick and fluttering against the wind.


	9. Chapter Eight - Wanda

It had all gone wrong. Everything had gone so horribly wrong.

Breathing hard and fast, the woman treaded carefully across the thin ledge, the cold wind sending a chill through her sleight frame. Pressing shaking hands against the rough exterior of the building, she reached up and pulled away her hood, long strands of brunette hair pulling free from her bun and fluttering in the very wind that threatened to knock her from her perch at any moment.

Closing her eyes tightly, Wanda released a trembling breath, working to get her frantic emotions under control. This wasn't supposed to have happened. She was supposed to have had more time. She had planned everything, down to the very last, often times critical, second.

But what she hadn't accounted for was stupid human error. And it wasn't even her _own_ error that had screwed things up. She could've handled it if she had miscalculated, or had simply missed something, though it would never have actually happened.

But the fact that the owner of the apartment had come home early had thrown her. She was lucky to have made it as far as the window in the time she'd had. But he'd seen her. This was the first time she'd come close to being caught. And her fate was hanging in the balance as precariously as she was from the ledge.

The sirens could be heard in the distance already, their red and blue lights looking like nothing more than mere dots from where she sat. She'd planned a calm escape, one with little interference and no witnesses. Now she had to worry about the police and their questions. And what if Clint were there? Hadn't he been the one assigned to the break-ins?

Letting out a groan, she banged her head lightly against the wall. Stupid. This whole plan was _stupid_. She knew she would get caught at some point. But the first time had gone so well despite her nerves. And the one after that, and the one after that. She had gotten cocky. It was her own fault. She knew better. Pietro would be so disappointed in her if he found out.

Forcing a slow breath past her lips, she watched as the puff dissipated into the air, wondering briefly if her freedom might disappear as quickly as her breath had. If she stayed here for much longer, however, she was sure to be found out. She needed to move, and she needed to move now.

Crouching down, Wanda pulled her bag closer to her body while moving slowly, sitting down on the ledge and gripping it tightly. She was quick with her next movements, though careful and precise, unwilling to let herself fall because of another stupid mistake.

Biting down hard on her lip, the woman inhaled sharply, letting her body drop until she was dangling by just her fingertips, another apartments open window directly in front and below her. Swinging once, she caught her breath as she was momentarily weightless before her body crashed through the window onto the hard floor inside.

Muttering to herself, Wanda stumbled to her feet, rubbing her hands over her soon to be bruised back and rear. Fumbling around for the light switch, Wanda flipped it on and turned, closing the window and securing the latch.

The apartment was freezing now, but the owner wouldn't be home until the next morning, giving it ample time to regain its lost heat. She'd made sure she planned for everything tonight, including the use of a friend's apartment.

Checking her bag and making sure the statuette was still safely wrapped in the scarf inside, she started for the door, a smile rising to her face. If she could make it out of the building now, then she was in the clear.

Or, she might've been, if her phone hadn't started ringing. Fumbling around inside the bag to stop the Black Sabbath song playing, she quickly answered, clearing her throat.

"Hello?"

"Maximoff! Great, you're awake!"

Glancing at her wristwatch, a frown overtook the smile that had previously been residing on the brunette's face. It was nine thirty on a Tuesday night; did he really think she'd be asleep? And if he did, what did that say about her? She really needed to get out more..

"Yes, I'm awake."

She said, working to keep the sigh out of her voice. Was he going to bring up her article again? She was still having trouble finishing it, trying to make it interesting with the few details she had that were able to be shared.

"I just got news of a break in of that new apartment complex; the one Rhodey did a story on?"

"I know the one."

She cringed, biting again at her bottom lip, muttering a silent prayer over and over again.

"Good, I want you to go there, see if you can get anything out of those cops working the scene. I heard your godfather's one of them, so go see what you can dig up, I want it in your article tomorrow morning."

" _Tomorrow_?" She gulped, slumping against a wall and running her hand down her face. "Mr. Stark, you gave me three days to finish that piece."

"I know what I gave you, Maximoff. But this is big, there's talk that they almost caught this guy, and I want you there to get the details _before_ any other media outlet. And that means publishing the story before them too, am I clear?"

Closing her eyes, Wanda swallowed thickly before barely nodding her head.

"Yes, sir, I understand."

"Good. Don't let me down, kid."

Ending the call, Wanda dropped her phone in her bag before letting out a groan.

"Is this karma? If this is karma, you suck. You owe me, remember?"

She muttered, heaving the large sigh she had been holding back while shoving herself off from the wall. Walking into the bedroom, Wanda fumbled around before finding a makeup bag and sitting down in front of the vanity.

She didn't have much to work with, her current attire of all black nothing like she would normally wear and frankly, a bit suspicious now under the circumstances. Pulling her hair down and controlling the loose strands, she put on a bit of mascara and a few dabs of lipstick, the color far darker than any she might've normally chosen.

Standing up, she looked down at her clothes, muttering a curse before trudging into the closet. She didn't have time to go home and change, and she certainly hadn't planned on _this_ either. Which meant she needed to work with what she had at her disposal, even if it meant standing out tonight.

Standing in front of the vanity a few moments later, she frowned at her outfit, pulling at the sleeves of the sweater nervously. It was rare she wore anything aside from her work clothes, and when she wasn't, it was almost exclusively sweats and a hoodie.

Tonight however, being forced to raid the closet of a girl who liked to be different, she found herself intrigued by the new look. If her boss could see her now, perhaps he wouldn't assume she would be asleep so early at night.

Tugging the short black skirt lower, she readjusted the grey sweater, the low cut shirt showing off more than any article of clothing she herself owned. She'd never thought of herself as overly modest, she had just never found a reason to wear more revealing clothes.

Reaching down and fixing the combat boots and thigh high tights, she frowned, mussing with her hair once more. Turning in the mirror, she tilted her head, trying to imitate the pout her friend always wore. She looked good; she couldn't deny it, even if it wasn't her typical style. But she was just asking for trouble if Clint saw her.

She smiled a bit, imagining what her brother would say if he could see her now. She could picture it, the way he would throw his jacket over her protectively, practically growling at any man who even dared to look her way.

Wanda's chest constricted painfully as her hand drifted to the bag slung across her chest, holding the stolen prize close to her. Straightening her shoulders and lifting her head high, she marched out of the apartment, turning off the light as she went.

Making her way down the hall, she spotted an officer speaking to one of the neighbors and felt her heart thrum faster in her chest. Slipping into the elevator unnoticed, she took it to the next level and let out the breath she had been holding as it opened to reveal the penthouse suits.

One room was blocked off by two men, one of them taking notes while the other stifled a yawn. Where one of the men wore a full uniform, smoothed out and clean, the others clothes were unkempt, with a shirt half tucked and a jacket hiding what she was sure was at least one coffee stain.

"Uncle Clint, you look chipper as always."

She smiled, her voice sounding steady despite the full blown concert her heart was beating too. Looking over, Clint's brows raised, a concerned look on his face as he did a once over on her outfit.

"Wanda? What are you doing here?"

He questioned, holding out an arm as she walked into him, giving him a small hug, carefully positioning the bag away from him.

"I'm here for work, of course. Isn't that why you're here too?"

She teased; pulling away and watching him roll his eyes.

"No, no way, kid. No press."

"C'mon, please? My boss is going to fire me if I don't do well with this story. _Please_?"\

She begged, grabbing ahold of his arm and giving him her best puppy dog eyes. The man's frown deepened, looking behind him before shaking his head.

"I can't. The chief is here and if he catches me talking to you, I'll get an ear full. And the last thing I need is for him to send me out on another crazy mission with Coulson as punishment."

He grumbled, shaking his head.

"I thought you liked Phil?"

She asked, tilting her head and feeling her hair brush against the side of her face.

"I do, but that guy always seems to be in some sort of trouble. The amount of times he's.. No, never mind. I gotta go back in, go on home, alright?"

"But I-"

"Wanda?"

Turning at her name, the woman felt herself freeze, heat rising to her face as she stared up at the man who she'd completely forgotten had worked for the department.

"James."

She spoke softly, her voice wavering as she smiled, clearing her throat and nodding at him, hoping the flush wasn't too noticeable to either man.

"I didn't realize you two knew each other."

Clint said slowly, giving James a hard, suspicious look. Wanda watched in shock as the gruff yet charming man she'd met last night seemed to melt into a sheepish smile, looking almost intimidated by the man who stood a few inches shorter than he did.

"I'm her new-"

"Friend. He's a friend, I met through Steve. They live together, right?"

She cut him off, brows raised and eyes pleading for him to go with her on it. There's a moment of hesitation, the man's icy hues narrowing before he is smiling again, glancing up at Clint.

"Yeah, I can't believe it took this long for Steve to introduce us. So, uh, Wanda, what are you doing here?"

He questioned, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes that had the woman fighting harder against the awkward mess she tended to collapse into.

"What I'm sure Steve does all the time. Pestering for a story, of course!"

She laughed, tugging at Clint's sleeve.

"Please, Uncle Clint? Anything you can give, anything at all?"

"Yeah, _Uncle Clint,_ can't you help?"

James grinned, folding his arms across his chest and arching a brow at the man.

"Wanda, I told you before that I can't-"

"Barton! Get your ass over here!"

A harsh voice yelled, Wanda flinching as she let go of her godfathers sleeve.

"I will call you later, please, go home."

He said quietly, glancing momentarily at James before disappearing back inside the apartment.

"Fury doesn't sound happy.." James grumbled, taking a step closer and towering over the smaller woman, a faint smirk coming to his face. "So, what's my new _friend_ really doing here?"

He teased, a dark color flushing her face entirely now as she struggled to look him in the eyes.

"Exactly what I said. My boss gave me this 'rose thief' story, and I'm just trying to run with it as best I can."

She shrugged, watching as the man scoffed.

"Rose thief?"

"I'll work on a better name."

She grimaced, peering into the apartment before looking back up at him.

"You wouldn't be able to help me, would you?"

There's a glimmer of hope in her eyes, staring up at the man eagerly as he frowned, shaking his head.

"No, no way. Steve did this to me all the time. You know how much trouble I can get into by giving you details of an ongoing investigation?"

"I'm guessing a lot. Which would just make it that much more meaningful if you could just give me one thing, just one little thing!"

Sighing, the man reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was evident by the way he was acting that Steve must have done this too him far more often than the photographer would've liked. She felt almost guilty asking him like this, but then again, she did _desperately_ need someone's help with it all if she wanted to keep her job, so if she had to result to begging, so be it.

Wanda's eyes moved away from his face and down to his arm, finding herself once more staring at the strange metal appendage as the man struggled to find more excuses.

How did he go through airports with that sort of thing? Did magnets stick to it? Was he a hazard to drivers on the road when it was daylight and the sun glimmered off the metal? She was suddenly filled with questions she absolutely needed the answers too.

"Just one thing?"

He asked softly, the woman breaking out of her thoughts and looking up at him.

"Just one."

"You sure you can't get out of the story?"

"My boss kind've gave this as my last redeeming assignment so.. If I fail, there won't be anymore."

"What, Stark is threatening to fire you?"

He demanded, looking up at her now as his brows knit together in anger.

"You know Mr. Stark?"

"Tony and I go back, yeah. Though I doubt Steve's ever told you that."

He muttered, looking disgusted at the mere admittance. The news was stunning, the woman speechless for a few moments as her head faintly shook back and forth.

"No.. I never knew.."

"Listen, if anything happens, I'll talk to Stark myself. But for now.."

Trailing off, the man glanced behind him before placing his hand on the small of her back, ushering her back towards the elevator. Feeling his hand on her back sent electricity racing down her spine, her teeth catching ahold of her bottom lip again.

"We think it might be a woman. Small, fast. She's taken every precaution, though she still seems inexperienced."

"So you're saying this is likely her first time being a criminal?"

She asked slowly, gauging his reactions. He was just the photographer, but Clint always spoke highly of him. She'd never questioned why he wasn't a detective though. Maybe she should have.

"Probably. Which means one of our best chances of finding her is through her fence. My bet is she's trying to get rid of the items as quickly as possible for both a faster payout and to be rid of the evidence, which means she isn't being too careful with who she goes too."

Nodding her head slowly, a string of curses ran through the woman's mind. Were they closer than she had thought? Her hand tightened around the bag, forcing herself to keep her eyes on the man in front of her. She was going to regret letting him live there after all, wasn't she?

"Is that enough to help you?"

He questioned, and he looked so pleased, as if what he offered didn't cause her entire life to begin cracking around her. She'd thought she'd been so careful. She always knew the flowers were a mistake, but they meant something. Symbolism. She'd always been very big on that. Pietro would've called her foolish. But then again, she could've said the same to him.

"Wanda?"

Blinking once, the woman snapped back to reality, a sheepish grin prominent as she moved around him, pushing the button for the elevator.

"That was perfect, James, thank you."

"You know, my _friends_ call me Bucky."

He smirked, shifting conveniently in front of the doors, blocking her path. Smirking herself, Wanda crossed her arms and tilted her chin up at him.

"Personally, I prefer _James_ , it suits you better."

What was she saying? She can feel the heat racing up her neck, the man staring at her with those breathtaking eyes. It wasn't fair to have eyes the color of frost; it was too strange. As if he were the character in a fairy tale, not a person in real life.

Her thoughts were going crazy, the elevator doors opening as the man let out a quiet chuckle, staring at her as if she were some sort of puzzle he couldn't quite figure out. Good, she hoped he never would.

The last thing she needed was to get involved with a cop.

Any more than she already was, at least. Or maybe, that's exactly what she needed. Would he protect her if he found out? The idea nearly made her laugh, the notion so ridiculous sounding.

"It suits me, huh?"

He questioned, turning to place his hand against the doors as she stepped past him and inside. Were they flirting? This felt like flirting. She hoped not, she was _horrible_ at flirting. Smiling gently, she took a step closer to him, tilting her head to look him in the eyes.

"Since you're here," She paused, reaching for the keys dangling on the outside of her bag. Prying off one of a double set, she extended it out to him. "Your key to the apartment."

"Oh, great, thanks. And Wanda? Do me a favor, come up with a better name than 'rose thief' for your article okay? And don't listen to anything Clint says, he'll try convincing you it was magic."

He rolled his eyes, taking the key from her while looking her up and down briefly, causing a blush to start creeping up over her face again. Yes, she would need to dress like this a _lot_ more often.

"Wanda?"

"James?"

She smirked, crystal blue eyes blinking up at him curiously.

"How'd you get past the officers outside?"

The sudden question caught the woman off guard, her eyes widening.

"Excuse me?"

"When we got here, the doorman said no one had come inside the building in the past hour. And the men outside were told not to let anyone in. And as close as you are to Clint, I think that would've included you as well."

Was he actually suspicious of her? He had no right! Well, he had a right, but he had no _proof,_ therefore no, he had no right!

"Why are you questioning me?"

She scoffed lightly, trying to keep her tone level as her heart beat faster.

"I'm just curious. With the chief here, no one wants to slip up. And they certainly wouldn't let anyone from the press in while he is still here."

"I was already here when it happened, visiting a friend."

She sighed, tugging at the sleeves of her shirt.

"Friend?"

"The floor below us. Her name is Rogue, I needed to borrow an outfit. Now are you quite finished questioning me?"

"I didn't mean-"

"Move in whenever you're ready, but I'd appreciate it if you refrained from any further interrogations."

She muttered, reaching out and pressing the ground floor button, James' hand pulling away, watching her with a shocked expression as the doors closed.

Had seen been too harsh? His questions had caught her off guard. He was right though, she had never considered them being suspicious of her. With her connection to the detective and being a reporter, she had never been questioned much for being at a crime scene.

So why now? Wrapping her arms around herself, she let out a slow breath. She would have to be much more careful from now on. If even the forensic photographer was noticing discrepancies in her actions, she was being too reckless.

Though in a way, it did seem to add to the excitement of it all. It made her adrenaline spike, which had become a sort of addiction since this had all begun. She would have to apologize to James later, however. He'd helped her, being overly cautious was just part of his job.

Sighing, she rubbed at her temples, a headache beginning to vie for her attention. One good thing did happen to come from it all at least, and that was the angle in which she planned to write her story. Digging for her phone, she is careful to keep the contents of her bag out of sight of the cameras before dialing a number and pressing it to her ear.

"Hello?"

The voice sounded disgruntled, and Wanda wondered briefly if he was back at the office drinking again.

"Mr. Stark?"

"Maximoff? What the hell do you want?"

"I figured out the angle to my story, and I have a feeling you'll be pleased to hear it."


	10. Chapter Nine - Bucky

He couldn't stop replaying what happened over and over again in his head. Why had he questioned her like that? He wasn't a cop; it was none of his business as to why she was there or how she got into the building. He just couldn't seem to help himself, it was instinct perhaps. Or maybe she'd made him flustered and he'd wanted to change the subject?

He kept seeing the surprise on her face, and then the annoyance. What was wrong with him? Did she even still want him to move in? He was overthinking it all now, getting himself worked up over nothing. What did it even matter if she was there? She was Clint's family and she was a reporter, she had every reason to be there. And yet he couldn't help the off feeling he had.

The same feeling that he'd always followed, that up until the incident, he'd thought would make him one of the best detectives on the force. No, he needed to think about something else. Something like.. She'd looked absolutely stunning earlier, her hair draped over her shoulders, delicate fingers tugging at the too long sleeves of her sweater.

Shaking his head furiously, Bucky ran his hands through his hair and groaned. What the hell was he thinking? He was about to be her _roommate_ , nothing more. Besides, even speaking to her had suddenly put him on Clint's radar. The man had followed him around the rest of the night as if _he_ were the criminal, and the last thing he needed was to be on Clint's shit list.

Tugging his keys from his pocket, Bucky walked up to his motorcycle, pulled his camera bag around and climbed on top while starting the ignition and kicking back the stand. He needed a distraction, and he had the perfect idea.

He'd been toying with something for a while now, and after what happened with the mugging, he was determined to follow through. He wasn't an actual cop, no. But that didn't mean he still couldn't help people who were in trouble in his own way.

Stopping outside a large store with bright lights shining down on him, he found his heart beating faster. This was exactly what he needed, he was sure of it. Something to distract him from his own thoughts and problems, something to give him purpose.

He never wanted to be a forensic photographer, he was lucky he'd even minored in photography back in school to have that as a job option. It felt like he was being mocked every single day he went to the precinct and found himself surrounded by what he could never be. But maybe this would change all that.

Climbing off his bike and stalking into the store, he walked through the aisles and grabbed a few things here and there before returning to the only register still open at that time of night.

"Find everything alright, Sir?"

The young man asked, scanning the items through absentmindedly as Bucky watched, his eyes trailing over the various hoodies and gloves.

"Yeah."

He answered distractedly, the boots and dark colored jeans scanning through as the final total appeared on the screen. As Bucky handed over the cash to pay, the young man paused, eyes widening at the metal appendage before his head jerked up, locking eyes with the older.

Neither spoke, though Bucky felt the tension in the air as the boy finally accepted the cash and offered him his change, eyes refusing to meet his again as his face turned a shade of scarlet.

"Have a good night."

Bucky called out, shaking his head to himself while grabbing his bag.

"Y-You too."

The boy stuttered back, drawing a small smile onto the man's lips as he left. It never ceased to amuse him when people got worked up over his arm. He'd seen just about every reaction now, ranging from a gaping look to endless questions and everything in between.

And the one time he'd accidently tried going through a metal detector had been both the best, and the worst. It had been the longest four hours of his life. Most people didn't tend to believe you when you said you lost your arm and got a crazy prosthetic to replace it as it turned out. But, that was something to consider, his hand. The last thing he needed was it to cause him more trouble.

Clenching his fist tightly, Bucky walked back to his bike and climbed back on, starting the engine and securing the bag in front of him. It was late, but he wanted to finish packing tonight so he could move in while she was at work tomorrow. He wasn't quite ready to face her again after his questioning.

Would things be awkward between them now? He hated that thought. He liked her a lot, and he was looking forward to the chance to get to know her. She seemed shy, reserved, yet she was a reporter. And a rather good one too from what Steve had said.

So was the shyness an act, or did she only get nervous around certain people? She had pushed hard to get her story though, both impressing and surprising the photographer. But if he screwed it all up with his pathetic interrogation attempt, who knew if he'd get the chance to talk to her about it.

As he made his way back to his shared apartment, he tightened his hold on the handles of the bike. When he'd left, Steve was still trying to get him to talk. He'd been able to put his recent.. episode.. out of his head because of the case, but he had no doubt Steve would still be awake, waiting to talk to him.

As he pulled into his parking space beside Steve's car, the lone light in the window was enough to make the man want to crash at the police station for the night. It's not as if it would have been the first time.

Grumbling to himself as he gathered his bags, he unlocked the door and crept quietly inside. His boxes still littered the living room, and as he stepped around one to get inside, he spotted the blonde sprawled out on the couch.

Steve's laptop was propped open on his lap, the assignment he'd been working on earlier nearly finished. Moving around for a better view, he found himself smirking. Steve had passed out entirely with his arms folded over his chest and his head leaning into the old cushions, giving a perfect yet frightening view of the dark bruises covering his throat.

Bucky bit back a grimace as his smile fell, setting his bags down slowly and quietly. Stepping over another box, he picked the laptop up carefully and scanned through the story, moving a couple of lines down and giving a few notes of his own to what was written before closing it and setting it on the table.

"It's like you're still a kid, punk."

He mumbled softly, grabbing a blanket off the couch and draping it over his friend. Shedding his jacket Bucky headed for the bathroom while trying to push the image of the bruises on his best friend's neck out of his mind.

Packing was obviously out of the question, not without waking Steve up which he absolutely did not want. Whether it was out of self-preservation or simply wanting the man to sleep undisturbed, he closed the door and tugged off his shirt.

The white bandage around his forearm was still thankfully pristine, and turning around in the mirror, he was able to see the myriad of bruising along his bicep and shoulder from the struggle. As his eyes moved along, they drifted over the older scars on his left shoulder where metal met flesh.

There were multiple surgical scars, but as he reached up slowly, his fingers trailed over deep gouges where the prosthetic was connected to his body. He shuddered at the contact, biting down hard on his lip. He remembered that night vividly, as if it had just happened.

" _Bucky, stop!"_

He still remembered the blood.

" _Get it off.. Get it off!"_

His entire career had been washed away in that single moment.

" _Let go, let go! I need it off.. It has to come off!"_

Stepping into the shower and turning on the water, he tilted his head towards the stream and let the mist fall into his face.

" _Bucky, please, you have to stop!"_

Steve had sounded so scared. Looking back, he felt as if he might drown in the guilt. Steve never should have gone through any of that.

" _Not again.. I won't do it again.. I need it off.. Get it off!"_

Pushing the hair from his face, he let out a slow breath, steam beginning to fill the room.

" _Nine one one, what's your emergency?"_

He'd never held it against Steve. Hell, if it had been the other way around, he probably would have done the same thing.

" _We need an ambulance. My friend, he's bleeding a lot. I-It's everywhere. I'm putting pressure on it but there's so much."_

They'd taken it the wrong way, all of them.

" _Sir, can you tell me what happened?"_

He'd never been trying to kill himself. He just wanted that damn arm off. He hated the reminder it gave him. Every minute of every day.

" _H-He stabbed himself. In the shoulder. He was trying to get his prosthetic off. I don't know how many times, I just found him when I got home."_

Steve never should have been forced to handle it.

" _Is your friend conscious?"_

It was ironic, really. That his breakdown occurred the day before his psych eval.

" _I think so.. but barely. He wouldn't.. He wouldn't put the knife down.."_

Closing his eyes, the temperature of the water rose, the entire room filling with heat and steam. He barely remembered the call, but he did remember how panicked Steve had sounded. How scared. He was sure he was going to die. And it didn't matter what Bucky tried to say, everyone was positive he was trying to kill himself.

And looking back, he wasn't really sure if he actually was or not. Not that it mattered; they'd kicked him from the program before he had a chance to plead his case with them. He wasn't suicidal, he wasn't crazy. He'd been through hell and the stress had triggered a break. If he'd had a little time then maybe..

" _Sir, an emergency vehicle has been dispatched to your location. Please remain on the line until they arrive."_

Shutting the water off abruptly, Bucky let out a slow breath, moisture gathered in his lungs. Maybe it was a good thing after all, not being a cop. Clint had taken pity on him, tried to find him another position. He already knew most of the other officers at that point, and most had been glad to have him as the photographer at the very least as he was one of the best in his field despite his lack of passion for it.

" _Steve.. Get it off.. Please.."_

Bracing his hand against the wall, he leaned his head forward until it met tile and he watched the last of the water circle the drain.

" _Hang on, Buck, they're on their way."_

It had been a while since his last break. He should've expected one, but in no way had he been prepared for what happened with Steve. When he'd woken up in the hospital, they'd put him on suicide watch. Steve apologized for weeks, blaming himself for Bucky losing out on his new job. He knew it wasn't Steve's fault, that it was entirely his.

PTSD had hit him and it had hit him hard. The last three months he was alone there had been the worst in his entire life. But there was a piece of him that felt weak for allowing himself to fall back into that hole. It was over and done with. He'd lived, they hadn't, and the damage was done. And yet that night, his arm had triggered him. The one thing that was still ever present in his mind, bringing him back to that night.

Squeezing his hand, water droplets fell from the metal and dripped to the tub below. They'd offered therapy, medication, just about everything they could to someone like him. And he'd turned everything down. How was he supposed to talk about what happened when he couldn't even bring himself to think about it, let alone discuss it out loud.

But then, he thought he could handle it all on his own. It was only now, when his own mind betrayed him and made him attack the one good thing in his life, that he could finally admit that maybe it was time to look into those other options.

Stepping out of the shower and drying himself quickly, he changed and peeled away the wet bandage, leaving the wound to air dry as he turned off the light, standing frozen in the pitch black room. Warm, damp, dark, alone. It reminded him so much of where he had once been. Trapped, tortured, dying.

His breathing picked up, his heart racing as he yanked open the door and breathed the cooler air into his lungs. He had to wonder if there would ever be a time when those memories wouldn't constantly be trying to surface and drag him beneath their crushing weight.

Using a towel to dry his hair, he paused at the back of the couch, staring down at the blonde who had shifted, making himself more comfortable in his sleep.

"The hell are you gonna do when I'm gone?"

He chuckled quietly, pulling the blanket up where it had fallen and reached out to turn off the light.

"…maybe sleep undisturbed.."

Steve mumbled, burying his face into a cushion, his hair sticking up at odd angles as Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Goodnight, Steve."

"Buck, wait."

The words are muffled, his hand reaching out and smacking at the back of the couch before finally connecting with the man's arm, his fingers wrapping around the other's wrist.

"You good?"

His eyes were still closed, the blonde barely awake as Bucky smirked.

"Yeah, kid, I'm fine."

"Kid my ass.. same age.."

"You're right, you're a punk."

He scoffed, pulling his hand free and reaching out to ruffle the blonde's hair. Steve partially sat up, glaring at him as Bucky grinned before shutting off the light.

"Looking forward to a quiet house."

He grumbled, lying back down as Bucky stepped into the bedroom.

"No you're not."

He called back, closing the door on the continued half asleep mutterings as he fell onto the bed, not bothering to turn on the light. He shifted around, tugging a blanket over himself and finding a pillow that he promptly pushed his head under.

He didn't want to look around the room, didn't want to know if Steve had cleaned things up or if he hadn't. The last two days had taken a lot out of him, and he just wanted to sleep and forget about it all.

It had been several days since his last restful night, but the man found himself falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. Whether he was just dead tired, or his mind knew he couldn't take much else, he was grateful either way. Or at least he was until he was brutally awakened.

"Not _funny_ enough?" The piercing yell jolted the man from his slumber, groggy eyes scanning the room trying to figure out what had happened as sunlight filtered onto the floor from the window. "Too _kind_?"

The door ripped open as Steve walked in shirtless, his hair a mess, and his laptop balancing on one hand.

"What the hell do you mean it's not _funny_ enough? It's a review! There's not supposed to be anything funny about it!"

The loud tone of his voice only confused Bucky more, the man still half asleep as he sat up with a yawn.

"What are you-"

"You made _footnotes_? In my article, Bucky?"

"What's the big deal; you have me give you notes all the time. Geez, what time is it?"

Grimacing at the sunlight pouring into the room, he rummaged around for his phone in the mess of his blanket, trying to remember where he had left it the night before.

"Yes, but this was my _final_ draft! I almost sent this in, Bucky!"

"The editors would've caught it, calm down. Is there coffee made?"

Peering up at his friend, Bucky could feel the frustration radiating off the blonde as he stared incredulously at him.

"You really don't see the problem here, do you?"

"Look, I'm sorry," Standing up, he pushed the hair from his face and stepped forwards, his hands falling on Steve's shoulders. "Last night sucked, a lot. I wanted to ease some tension. I didn't realize it was already finished. I _am_ sorry, Steve."

Icy hues locked onto cerulean as Steve finally huffed a sigh, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"Whatever. I hate when you do that."

Pulling away, he closed his laptop and walked out of the room, Bucky following behind with a frown.

"Hate what?"

"That ridiculous 'kicked dog' look you get."

"You just can't stay mad at me." He grinned, Steve stopping abruptly as Bucky draped his arms over his shoulders and his head leaned against the back of the blondes. "Admit it, you're gonna miss me."

"When are you leaving again?"

"You're gonna call me all the time, asking me to stay over."

Bucky's teasing harder now, grinning ear to ear as Steve started towards the kitchen as Bucky followed behind with his arms still around his neck.

"Go to work, Bucky."

"You're gonna be coming over to my place just to have me make my stupid comments on your stories."

"Remind me to take your key back."

"No way! It's mine, I'm gonna use it all I want!"

"Whose gonna miss who again?"

Steve smirked triumphantly, pulling away and pointing to the almost full coffee pot.

"Shut up."

Bucky grumbled, reaching out and shoving the other's head playfully before retrieving the pot and pouring himself a cup.

"Aren't you supposed to be at the precinct already?"

Steve questioned, gathering a few papers and pushing them to one side of the table.

"Took the day off, told them I was moving."

"Oh, right. I can drop some of your stuff off when I pick up Wanda."

"That's great. As it is, I had to ask Thor if I could borrow his truck today. Kinda hard to move my stuff on a bike."

"I told you when you bought that thing that one day you'd want something more practical."

He mused, taking a sip of his own coffee as the brunette glowered at him.

"Steve, may I remind you that you practically _begged_ to use my motorcycle when you wanted to impress Sharon."

"I'm not saying it's a bad vehicle, Buck. Just that you should consider actually buying a _car_ as well."

"Oh sure, with all the money _I_ have in the world."

"You're infuriating this morning."

He grumped, walking back into his bedroom.

"That's what happens when you wake me up by yelling at me!"

He shouted after him, taking a slow sip of his own. He'd miss this, he had to admit. This wasn't the first time he'd ever lived with Steve, the kid had moved in with his family when his mother had passed and he couldn't keep up the rent by himself. And then again in college, they'd been roommates. Hell, they'd been as close as brothers even on the tours they went on, always in the same platoons.

But he knew it was time to move on. The apartment was too small, and he knew how serious Steve and Sharon were getting. It was better if he didn't intrude anymore on that than he already had.

Finishing up his coffee, he set the mug in the sink as he heard the shower turn on. Walking into the bedroom and changing into old jeans and a dark t shirt, he wrapped his arm carefully before getting to work with finishing up the two boxes he'd started the night before.

It appeared Steve had already packed away the wooden box from the other night, which he was grateful for. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of that nightmare. As he taped up the second box, he heard Steve walking out of the bathroom, mumbling incoherently to him. Glancing up, he spotted a paper pressed tightly between the blonde's lips as he buttoned his shirt.

"No time for breakfast?"

"Shut up," He muttered as he pulled the papers from his mouth, shooting the brunette an annoyed glance. "I asked if you were done, I've gotta get going."

"You're the one who woke up late, that's not my problem."

Bucky shrugged, picking up a box and holding it out to the other.

"Glad you got it taped, you don't have to show me though."

The man stated dryly, turning his back on his friend as he shoved the paper inside his laptop bag.

" _Steeeve_."

He whined, drawing the name out as the blonde slung the bag over his shoulders and reached out for the box.

"You're a child."

"And still your best friend, so what's that say about you?"

He grinned, the other rolling his eyes as they walked out of the apartment, each carrying a box out to the car. As they loaded them in the backseat, Steve stood with his keys in hand, staring over the top of the car at the brunette.

"What? You act like I'm dying." He scoffed, walking over and tugging the man into a hug. "You get to come home to a boring house for once, Rogers, congratulations."

"Thank God."

Laughing, Bucky pushed him back and shoved his fist into his shoulder.

"Call if you need anything."

"Try not to piss her off too much, alright? I'd hate to have you move back in the day after you left."

It's said in a teasing manner, but a replay of the shocked expression she wore the previous night flashed through Bucky's mind as he struggled to keep his smile in place.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll try. Go, or she'll blame me for you being late."

"Bye, Buck."

"See ya, punk."

Waving him off, he stepped back as the car pulled out and drove away before he meandered slowly back inside. The silence was suddenly deafening as he pulled out his phone, turning on his music and blaring it at a loud volume.

He hated the silence, it allowed his thoughts to boom and he wasn't a big fan of that. He began moving through the house, working from room to room and gathering his belongings, dropping them into a large pile in front of the couch.

It took him over an hour, most of his things at some point or another finding their way mixed in with Steve's. When he's managed to gather everything, he began shoving it all in variously sized boxes, taking little care with most of the things.

He doesn't have much left really, some clothes and books and bedding, a few personal items from when he was a kid and in college. With tape and markers he was done by midmorning, falling back on the couch with a puff of air leaving him.

' _Is now a good time to get your truck?'_

He sent the text quickly, leaning his head back and closing his eyes for a moment before his phone is vibrating against his leg in an immediate response.

' _Anytime you need, my friend.'_

Standing and grabbing his jacket he tugs it on and grabs his helmet while walking out to his bike. It felt like a sort of betrayal, using a different mode of transportation, but what he'd said earlier was true. Moving things with his bike was impossible, and since Steve gave Wanda a ride to work every day, using his car hadn't been an option either.

The drive went by quickly, the man parking his motorcycle in the back lot and walking into the precinct. It felt strange being there dressed in old clothes and not working, but his discomfort was eased by the occasional hello and friendly smiles. All of that was quickly shoved away though when he heard the snarky laughter drifting into the halls from an all too familiar man as he neared the desired desk.

"Well, if it isn't the little toy solider. Shouldn't you be somewhere else, playing with the cameras?"

Loki called out, his arms folded across his chest as he sat on the edge of a desk, his foot propped up on a chair.

"Shouldn't you be out colluding with criminals, Laufeyson?"

He shot back, receiving a scowl as the man shifted his weight to stand.

"You know what, Barnes-"

"James! You're here!"

The booming tone immediately stopped the argument, Thor Odinson striding forwards with the worlds widest grin on his face.

"Hey, Thor. Thanks again for letting me borrow your car, it's a huge help."

"Of course, my friend!"

The man laughed, patting him heavily on the shoulder. He always had a habit of talking like that, as if he'd emerged straight out of a Victorian film. Not that anyone really minded, most found it chivalrous and the rest found it endearing. Besides, he was one of the nicest guys around, and no one had the heart to tell him it sounded odd.

"I'll bring it back later, probably in a couple hours?"

"You make it a habit of mooching off others, soldier?"

Loki scoffed, rifling through a stack of papers. Clenching his fists, he was about to retort when the hand on his shoulder tightened a fraction.

"Brother, must you cause such strife?"

Thor chastised, Loki's eyes rolling dramatically.

"Stop calling me that, I'm not your brother."

The man muttered, turning his back on the other two as Bucky shook his head, smiling a little.

"Thanks again."

"Anything I can do to help you, James."

He nodded earnestly, letting go of his shoulder and walking back to his own desk. Pulling a set of keys from the drawer, he dropped them into Bucky's hand and offered another grin.

"Best of luck with your move!"

With a final goodbye he strode out of the building and back into the parking lot, swinging Thor's keys around in his hand. He walked around looking for the familiar red truck before finding it off in a corner under the shade of a tree.

Thor had inherited the truck from a friend when he'd moved here and had taken great care to keep it running smoothly. Sank a lot of money that could've gone into a different vehicle, but claimed this one was the only one he would have.

It was nice in a way, Bucky thought, to have a possession that you're so attached too you'd rather spend more to keep it functioning than upgrade it to a better one. Material possessions weren't really a thing that Bucky himself liked. He would rather be able to drop everything and leave at a moment's notice if the need ever arose.

Everything he owned, his books and his music and his clothes, none of it was anything he was overly attached too. In a way, his real attachment was to people. Steve, to be precise.

No matter where he went, what he did, who he met, Steve was always his one variable. He could leave his entire life behind, except for that one string always connecting him back to the city. In a way, he supposed everyone had that one thing. If you didn't, did it really even make you human?

Getting through traffic took twice as long, suddenly finding himself unable to move in and out through traffic as he had done on his bike with the large vehicle. He rolled down the windows despite the winter chill in the air, the cool breeze easing his tension. He wasn't comfortable with the trapped feeling he had when riding in cars since he'd gotten back.

Being stuck in the seat, being forced to wear the belt, being trapped in traffic going a horribly slow pace. Maybe that was the reason he'd never bothered to get one. With his motorcycle he was able to free himself of all of those things. Waiting in traffic wasn't as much of a problem anymore, though he tended to get pulled over frequently by friends who usually let him go with a heavy sigh and a request to stop racing through town unnecessarily.

Being trapped in the confines of the small cab wasn't an issue because the bike itself was exposed in its entirety. He found the rushing wind relaxing even with the cold penetrating through his coat and making his fingers go numb. It distracted from the ever present flood of thoughts rushing through his mind.

Only now, it wasn't thoughts about the war or about the lab. Now it was about the empty house and the uncertainty that came with new relationships. Many new things were about to start for him, and he was only excited about one of them.

He made quick work of loading the truck with the last few boxes and bags he had when he got back to the apartment, surprised at what he'd actually accumulated in his time with Steve, and took a final look around.

The place had been a safe space for him for many months, the sound and the smell familiar and comforting. It was odd, leaving now. Leaving Steve. Turning his back to the couch and the kitchen in the next room, Bucky walked outside and tugged the door shut behind him.

Climbing inside the truck and subjecting himself to the traffic once more, he turned the radio on and let himself zone out to the rhythm, making turns and switching lanes on autopilot. As he drove, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, and at a red light he pulled it free to check it.

' _I barely mentioned your name and Wanda started acting weird and abruptly changed the topic to the snow storm expected later this week. She hates the weather. What did you do?'_

Frowning to himself, he tossed his phone in the passenger seat and tapped his fingers anxiously against the steering wheel, stuck behind a minivan and a convertible while waiting for the light to change. He couldn't tell Steve he'd questioned her last night, but he did know he had to make it up to her in some way. The last thing he needed was the two of them starting things out on such awkward terms.

She wouldn't hold it against him forever, right? She had been there for a story, just doing her job. And he had been there as well, doing his own job. Though questioning relations and reporters wasn't _technically_ in the forensic photographer job description, he was still affiliated with the police, and surely in some manner it was in his right to ask her how she'd gotten in. Right?

When he finally made it to the apartment, he could hardly get out of the car fast enough, climbing out and stretching his arms up above his head. Looking around, he spotted the news building towering in the distance, surprised at how close it was to her place. He hadn't noticed the last time he was there, but then again, it had been late at night and his mind had been on other things.

Pulling the keys from his pocket and unlocking the door, he walked inside and looked around quietly. It was much less friendly than when he'd been there the other night. All the lights were off with the blinds drawn up, allowing the grey sky to filter in and light up the wooden floors. The pillows on the couch were perfectly set, and there didn't seem to be a single thing out of place.

A scent lingered in the air that he couldn't quite place, and as he passed through the kitchen, he paused. Everything had been meticulously put away and cleaned up, save a single plate on the counter covered in foil with a note attached.

' _Since I won't be here when you move in, here's a little something to make it easier. –W'_

Peeling the foil back from the place, the scent from earlier wafted over him and his mouth watered. Blueberries, that's what he had smelled. Picking up a muffin, it still felt warm, and as he took a bite the stress from earlier faded just a little bit.

Finishing off the muffin in his hand, he went about bringing in his things, carrying them in and setting them in the living room. As he went down for his last load, he retrieved his phone from the car and locked it, shoving the keys in his pocket with his own set.

Returning to the apartment and hanging his jacket by the door, he walked into his new bedroom, setting the box on the bed with the two Steve had already dropped off for him. There were still a few boxes from the previous roommate she had, and he began carrying them out and stacking them by the door to be taken to storage when she returned later with the key.

When he'd taken out all the boxes and brought in his own belongings, he turned his music back on and began unpacking a few things. He didn't need to get the truck back right away, and he wanted to start arranging things, make it feel more like his own place rather than a guest's room. Or maybe he was just anxious to make sure he was as out of her way as possible.

Rummaging around through his things he pulled a dark colored duffle bag from one of his boxes, setting it on the bed and unzipping it. He'd put the things he'd bought the previous night inside, along with a couple of things from his last tour, including a couple of knives and a small radio.

Zipping it back up quickly, he knelt down and shoved it up under the bed, hesitating when he felt it bump into something. Pulling it back out and crawling halfway under, he retrieved what looked like an old shoebox, wriggling out from underneath the box spring and setting it on the mattress.

It was old, the corners caved in and looking as if it had retained water damage at some point in its long life. It must've belonged to the other person, or even Wanda. And the last thing he needed was her thinking he was snooping around in things that didn't concern him.

Holding the box, he pushed himself up and carried it to the living room. He would leave it on the table, tell her where he found it, and leave it at that. Maybe that would help to build some trust. Or it might've, if the cardboard hadn't have collapsed in his hands and sent the contents scattering to the floor.

"Damnit!"

He cursed aloud, sinking to his knees and beginning to gather the items up gingerly. Despite how ruined the box was, the various photographs and letters had all appeared to be in near perfect condition. As he gathered everything into a stack, he made sure to leave them carefully on the table, setting the ruined box that had held them beside it.

Standing up, he shook his head in annoyance at himself, running his hands through his hair as the edge of a photograph caught his attention where it had slid half under the coffee table. Reaching down and grabbing it, he'd been about to place it with the others when the smiling faces caught his attention.

He didn't want to go through photographs that obviously weren't his, but he couldn't help himself. It was Wanda; that much was obvious. She stood in a cap and gown with a wide grin on her face and her arm wrapped tightly around a boy of similar height, with the same brown hair and bright eyes that she had, his grin matching hers. Easing it over in his hand, he read the blocked writing on the back of it.

' _Twin's Graduation'_

He stared in shock, unable to wrap his mind around the fact that she had a brother. But suddenly, the way she grew quiet when he asked about the belongings, why she was looking for another roommate for an apartment that was obviously too big for a run of the mill couple.

Something had happened to her brother. Her twin. Her other half. Turning the picture around again, he stared at their faces, the look of pure joy on the two of them making a knot form in his stomach. When had it happened? And what had happened? He-

"James?"

Jolting, his head jerked up, eyes moving to the front door where Wanda was kicking it closed, looking down at something in her hand.

"I saw a truck out front, I figured you were-" Her words faltered, her eyes landing on him before moving down to the picture held between his fingers and the stack on the table. "-here."

She finished quietly, her voice a mere whisper as the newspaper she held in her hand lowered, eyes staring intently at him. His own hand dropped, his heart racing as he tried to stutter out a coherent sentence before spitting out the first thing he could manage.

"I can explain."


	11. Chapter Ten - Wanda

Her day had been nothing but coffee fueled panic and pure adrenaline. With her story needing to come out sooner than she had anticipated, Wanda had reached her breaking point early on, but had pushed through until the story was complete and her nerves were entirely frayed.

By early afternoon she had had enough, and had shoved everything into her bag with little care for its wellbeing. She could blame her stress on the sudden deadline, but she'd dealt with those before. No, the majority of her mania was the one thing she'd never been forced to encounter, and that was a roommate.

In college she'd lived at home, and then after that had moved to live with her brother. She'd never needed to worry about some stranger cohabitating with her. Ruining her morning routine, stealing her food from the fridge, snooping through her belongings.

And as she marched towards the elevator ignoring Steve's questioning gaze, she felt the worry building and mounting until the anxiety was making her sick. The more she thought the faster she walked, the faster she walked the worse the anxiety became, and the worse the anxiety became the more lightheaded she felt.

And so there she stood, staring at that old truck in the apartment's parking lot, knowing exactly who was inside her apartment waiting for her. But he was a decent guy, right? She'd talked to him, and Steve liked him, so he wasn't some super stranger, just like, a lesser known acquaintance. That was a thing, right?

She paced back and forth beside his truck, she crept slowly up the stairs, she paced the hall a few doors away, and she stood frozen outside the oak door wondering just how bad it could be to never go home again. She could disappear, she'd done it before. She wasn't a fan of ghosting people, but she wasn't a fan of this overwhelming stress, either.

Huffing a quiet sigh, she clutched her bag tighter and pulled out a newspaper, folding and unfolding it several times. She could do this. He knew nothing, and he couldn't prove anything either. Just stay calm. Stay calm, and be _nice_.

Shoving her key into the lock and pushing open the door, she forced a smile and stared down at the paper in her hand as if she'd been reading it on her way up the stairs.

"James? I saw a truck out front," She began, pushing the door closed and looking up, her eyes spotting the man standing in the living room. "I figured you were.. Here."

Her words come to a halt, bright eyes landing on the photograph the man held tightly in his hand as the paper in hers lowered. Her eyes flickered to the table, a jumbled stack of various photos and letters haphazardly stacked next to a partially crushed box.

She turned her attention back to her roommate, his face beat red and mouth gaping. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, her knuckles turning white as her stomach knotted even tighter.

"I can explain."

He rushed out, his hand falling.

"Didn't think I'd be home so soon?"

It's said in a hoarse whisper, her head turning as she dropped her bag hard on the ground and stalked forwards.

"What? No!" He sputtered out, eyes wide in disbelief as she shoved past him. "Wanda, I, I mean I just, the thing is see I-"

"I don't want to hear it."

She scoffed, gathering the stack of mementoes in her hands and turning to face him, stretching her hand out for the picture. He stood at least half a foot taller than her, but right then he'd never looked smaller.

"I was moving stuff into the room, and I found the box under the bed. I was bringing it out here to leave on the table but the box collapsed in on itself. I was just gathering the stuff up so it wouldn't get ruined, I swear to you."

His words are rushed, as if afraid she was going to shut him up before he could get his story out.

"I said I don't care."

It's said stiffly, the words spoken with ice as she gestured to the photo he held of her graduation day. _Their_ graduation day. He looked down at the picture before offering it to her, metal fingers releasing it gently.

Without another word she walked past him and into her room, kicking the door closed behind her and carefully setting the stack of keepsakes on her bed. Why was it that he got in the way every single time she tried? How much had he snooped through her room? She wouldn't let him live there, not if he was going to invade her privacy. What else could he have found?

Panic welled up inside the woman as she moved to her closet, pulling the door open and pushing aside her clothes. Prying off a side of the paneling, she peered inside the darkened corner and breathed a sigh of relief at her bag sitting where she had left it last.

Replacing the panel and adjusting her clothes, Wanda eased the door shut and leaned back against it, staring at the stack on her bed. Was he being honest? Had she just missed something underneath the bed when she'd finally packed everything up?

Walking over and carefully sifting through the photos, she picked up one of Pietro climbing a fence and sighed. He was eight years old in it and he'd broken an arm when he'd fallen over to the other side immediately after that picture had been taken.

She remembered how he told everyone at school he'd been attacked by a bear because he'd wanted to sound cool, regardless of how ridiculous it was, and being the ever faithful twin Wanda had gone along with it.

They'd always been there for one another. Whether it came to the most insane stories or protecting the other fiercely, they never backed down. Setting the picture back on the bed, her eyes drifted to the closed door and she frowned.

She'd jumped to conclusions again hadn't she? When would she learn she could actually trust some people? Turning the knob quietly, she peered out into the hall and spotted the man in the other room repacking his boxes in silence.

Slipping out of her own room, she padded quietly into the other and leaned against the doorframe as she had done a thousand times in the past, her head tilting to rest against the wood.

"You don't have to go."

He jolted, his head twisting around to stare at her as he held a book firmly in his hands.

"I promise you I didn't go snooping through your stuff."

He said, his voice barely audible as her heart ached in her chest. It simply was not fair for a grown man to possess the ability to look like a kicked animal when he was sad.

"I know," She started, offering him a weak smile. "I kind've over reacted. I guess.. I'm just really nervous about having someone else living here that I'm almost looking for a way to sabotage it. But you don't have to go if you don't want too."

Brushing back a strand of hair, she watched his face light up, a relieved smile replacing the worried expression as he dropped the book he was holding onto the bed.

"I'd like to stay, yeah."

He nodded, resting his hands on his box as the awkward silence stretched on.

"Okay, well, I'm just gonna.."

"I uh, I didn't know you had a brother. A uhm, twin. He looks nice."

James offered, a spoken statement that had an underlying intent.

"He was pretty unique."

She shrugged, swallowing thickly as she turned away.

"Was?"

Those questions. Why did he have to ask so many questions all the time?

"Sorry, I guess it's none of my business. Steve always said I could never contain my curiosity."

He laughed, and it's a nervous, wishing he could take it back sort of laugh. Pressing her lips together tightly, her head barely bobbed.

"It's fine." No, it wasn't. "His name was Pietro." Stop talking. "He used to live here with me." _Please_.

"What happened?"

His voice is unbelievably soft, and time seemed to stand completely still.

"He got involved with some bad people." Stop. Just stop. Don't go back. Don't live it again. "And he.."

Too late. The tears come fast and hard, and it was all she could do to keep from gasping for breath.

"Wanda?"

Her back is to him, but her sudden silence must have alerted him that something wasn't right, because she could feel him right behind her, towering over her small frame as she struggled to breathe.

"I can't."

She whispered, pushing away from the wall and walking stiffly back to her room, closing her door on him for the second time that day.

Collapsing to the floor beside her bed, she's pulling a pillow from the mattress and clutching it tightly, trying to force air into her deprived lungs. When would she be able to talk about it without breaking down? When would she accept the fact that she couldn't go back and change it?

Her back pushed into the corner beside her bed, her knees pressing into her chest as she hugged the pillow tighter and counted her breaths to steady them. She hated this about herself.

Whenever Pietro was brought up, nothing else was present in her mind except those deafening shots and her piercing screams. The warmth of his blood, the dullness of his eyes. Everything always came flooding back and-

"Wanda?" His voice broke through as she pushed her face into the pillow. "Wanda?" He called again, knocking lightly against her door. "I'm sorry for upsetting you. Again." She wheezed out a breath, lifting her head and staring at the door in silence. "I shouldn't have pushed you to talk about it. I should've known better. But.. If you do wanna talk, at any point, I'm happy to listen."

There's a pause, and she could see his shadow moving under her door as if he were debating about whether or not he should walk away.

"Sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger, you know? And I'm not saying it'll make it better, but talking can help, I guess."

He's flustered, she could hear it in his voice, and she can't help the surprisingly calm effect it has on her. Wiping carefully at her eyes, she pushed herself up onto her feet and dropped the pillow on her bed.

He was right. And she needed to talk, she _had_ too or she was going to explode. Pietro would be furious if he knew she was still wallowing after all this time. He'd be mad about a lot of things she had been doing recently, but maybe if she talked about it she wouldn't feel like she was suffocating anymore. At the very least it couldn't hurt more than it already was. She's about to open the door when she hears him clearing his throat.

"I know I've kinda screwed up the whole, decent roommate thing already, but if you give me the chance, I promise I will make it up to you."

Turning the handle and pulling open the door, she peered up into wide eyes the color of ice, a surprised expression clear on his face as she tried to muster up a weak smile.

"It's been a really bad few days, and I'm usually far more put together," She began, pulling open her door a little wider. "So I guess both of us have had some troubles. But if your offer is still there, I wouldn't mind talking?"

He seemed stunned for a second, the gears in his mind shifting as his head quickly nodded up and down.

"Yeah, absolutely."

She couldn't help it, he was really likeable. Be it those eyes, or how he somehow managed to just bleed a calming nature, she wanted to be able to trust him. Without a word she opened the door fully, stepping out of his way and giving him a silent invitation into her room. He stepped in cautiously, eyes flitting around the small area.

"It looks nice."

"Thanks."

His company was pleasant, but the awkwardness was going to destroy her, she just knew it. Running her fingers across the back of her neck, she gestured to her bed and watched him sit on the edge as she perched in a chair next to her desk.

Should they have gone to a different room? Or was this her subconscious making sure she had nowhere to run and would have to have this conversation? And why was it now she was realizing it had been at least a week since she'd last vacuumed?

"His name was Pietro, and he was older than me by twelve minutes. He never let me forget that." She laughed quietly, setting her gaze on a piece of carpet half hidden beneath her bed that was stained blue from a dropped bottle of nail polish. "He was my best friend. We'd been looking out for each other for years after our parents died."

Her voice was shaking so she lowered the tone, her fingers picking at the nail beds on her other hand as she refused to look up at him. She couldn't even remember the last time she talked about this. Had she ever?

"He wanted to be a doctor, and he was one of the top in his class. We were both in school when we got this place. I was about to graduate, and he was acing his courses and was on track for a residency he had really wanted. Things were great, until he became friends with one of his teachers, Alexander Pierce."

She could see the recognition right away on James' face, and she knew why. Alexander Pierce had been in the media for months, going from one federal hearing to the next.

It had been discovered that he'd been running illegal experiments on people with the help of his students, bribing them with passing grades and help with their financial issues. He'd done the same with Pietro, and she'd never forgiven the man for it.

"I'm sure you've heard everything he's done, but this was before anything had come to light. He was a member of the board at the hospital, and he was incredibly influential. He'd promised my brother a multitude of things, if he'd only work on some extra credit projects with him."

She could still see that smug smile on Pierce's face when Pietro was excitedly telling her what would be offered if he helped him, not even realizing he was about to sell his soul to the devil himself.

"I was against it from the start. There was something about him that I just didn't like. But Pietro told him about our family, and how it was just the two of us, and he began making promises that were too good for my brother to pass up."

James had yet to speak up, remaining silent while she told her story, and she had almost forgotten that he was there as she replayed the memories in her mind.

"I thought they were just researching things, but then Pietro came home one day and he was just, different. He was exhausted and pale, he looked so sickly. And when he went to sleep that night, he went into cardiac arrest. I didn't understand at first why it had happened, but he was scared. He told me I had to help him, that he'd gotten in too far and he couldn't get out by himself."

Letting out a sigh, she pushed the hair from her face and stared down at her open palms. She hated what she had done. She'd never wanted to be a part of it, but how could she tell her other half no?

"I had to take his place while he recovered, and I got to know Pierce up close and personal in a way I never wanted."

A shiver ran through her and she heard her mattress squeak as James shifted on it.

"Weeks passed, and when Pietro was healthy enough, he went back to Pierce, told him we were done. We didn't want to be a part of the things he was doing anymore. He pretended to understand, he said he appreciated what we had done for him, and if we would do one last thing, then he would give us what he promised."

She dared to look up now, meeting the attentive eyes of the other completely enthralled by her tale.

"He'd been colluding with several people, and one in particular sold.. things on the black market."

It disgusted her to even think about that time. That night was one of the worst in her life, and that had been the longest and most silent car trip she'd ever taken with her brother. She'd made him scrub their car inside and out, and even after she could swear she could still smell the blood. Pietro had been angry, but in the end when they'd ditched the car, he didn't argue.

"We delivered his 'package' like he wanted, and he left us alone, just like he said he would. But we never got anything he'd promised my brother, and the following week was when they made their arrest and we found out we were on a list of all his accomplices."

She'd thought it was all over after that night, but then there were the interviews and the testimonies and the thinly veiled threats.

"They wanted my brother to testify to help lock Pierce away. Pietro was closer to him than I'd realized, and knew most of the inner workings of everything that went down, and with his testimony, they could lock Alexander Pierce away for years."

There was a pause and she was looking away again. Everyone knew Pierce was about to be released from lack of evidence. They'd been fighting with his lawyers for months, and they'd finally found a loophole that would allow his freedom.

In some ways she hated still working for the media, because there was no escape from these things.

At least Stark was kind in that regard, after what happened, he never made her deal with those stories and he did his best to keep them away from her.

But they were still around; there wasn't much of an escape when her job was to write for the same paper that always had the inside scoop on the trials.

"We were walking home one night, and Pietro was telling me about the deal he had made. If he gave a full testimony in front of a jury, he would be given a shorter sentence, like only a few months for the part he played in it all."

"Part he played?"

It's the first question he had asked, and Wanda nodded.

"Turns out my brother was more than an errand boy. He'd participated in a multitude of the biological and unethical human research experiments. He'd never meant to let it go that far, but he thought he could trust Pierce, thought he was benefitting the nation that took us in. It was only when those experiments started being done on him that he realized how wrong it all was."

She sighed, running a hand over her forehead. Experiments they had run on _her_ as well. She'd never approved of it when he started, and he'd made so many bad choices it was kind of incredible. But he was her brother despite it all. She knew how desperately he'd wanted a father figure, and how Pierce had practically brainwashed him into it, and she no longer had the heart to hold it against him.

"He kept me entirely out of it. He told the judge that I'd never known about any of the details. He made sure I couldn't get in trouble for my part I played, but made it impossible for me to testify as well."

She'd been so furious at him for that. She'd been yelling at him, telling him he'd had no right. She was just as responsible as he was, and she needed to do the right thing. And he'd just stared at her with tears in his eyes and he begged her to let him do it.

He'd failed in protecting her, when their parents died and when he forced them into that mess. He just wanted to protect her now. Just because he had to go to prison didn't mean she did as well. He didn't want her to give up her career like he'd thrown away his. And, well, it was impossible to resist Pietro when he was like that.

"Everything had been set up. Pietro would testify, Pierce would be locked away, and everyone he colluded with would be dealt with in time as well. Only Pietro never got a chance to stand before the jury."

She could stop, she didn't need to keep going, she had told him enough.

"We were walking home one evening from the store; I wanted to make him dinner, one of his favorites before the trial in the morning. We were standing on a corner, waiting for the light to change so we could cross the street."

So much blood. Too much. This was too much.

"He was laughing about something, I don't really remember what. The way I was holding the bags, or, or something that I'd said to the cashier, I'm not sure. But he found it hilarious and was teasing me about it."

She could feel the tears in her eyes as she struggled to keep her voice even.

"The protective detail they'd given him had gotten reports of a man tailing us a few blocks back, and had lagged behind to check it out. I guess they figured since nothing had happened up until that point, that he'd be fine. That a few minutes wouldn't hurt him to be left alone."

She'd screamed for hours, she'd screamed until her throat was raw and every word felt like glass slicing through her.

"This black car came out of nowhere, speeding through the streets, barely missing other cars. People were shouting, and Pietro was still laughing about what I'd said or done."

Tears were dripping down her face now as her hands clenched into fists, pushing into her thighs as she sat frozen, reliving the moment that had ruined her entire life.

"They stopped at the light, and we couldn't see their faces through the window, but Pietro's smile fell, and he was shoving me away from him. He was telling me to run."

It was like reliving it all over again.

"I don't really know what happened, it went by too fast, but there was gunfire, and Pietro he.. he fell to the ground."

Blood, so much blood. Warm and sticky and pooling.

"The car sped away, leaving him lying there. He was groaning and g-gasping for breath, and I was t-trying to help him but I-I couldn't and.."

Her words falter as she inhaled sharply, closing her eyes to block out the man's engaging stare. Silence filled the room as James waited patiently for her to continue. But how could she? What more was there to say? Her brother was gone and he wasn't coming back.

"That's about it."

She finally got out, her voice hoarse as she cleared her throat, quickly brushing away the tears and straightening her shoulders.

"I'm so sorry." He spoke quietly, shifting closer to her as he clasped his hands together in front of him. "All of this, I had no idea, and I'm-"

"It's fine, it's been a while now. If anything, I'm upset he ruined my chances to lock that bastard away once and for all."

It's said brusquely, turning her emotion into anger to avoid another breakdown.

"But-"

"Thank you for listening, I appreciate it, really. It was nice to.. talk. But I've got to finish my story and get it sent in tonight, so.."

She trailed off, standing abruptly from her chair and resting a hand on her door, unable to meet his eyes as she waited for him to take the hint. She didn't want the pity, not after the things she'd done.

"Right, sure, yeah." He stood quickly, his hands tugging and smoothing down his shirt as he moved around her and out her door. "If you wanna talk again, I'll be around, you know, here and stuff."

His intentions were sincere, and she forced a smile for him.

"Thank you, James. I may take you up on that. But I've really gotta.."

She trailed off again, starting to close the door as the brunette smiled.

"I'll see you later, Wanda."

"Yeah."

She bobbed her head, closing the door and pressing her forehead against the wood as she heard his footsteps departing.

"Stupid.."

She muttered to herself, turning around and staring at her bed where the man had been sitting. Why had she told him all of that? Was she really so desperate to get it out? It was like once she had started she couldn't stop herself.

Walking over and falling onto the mattress, she scooped up her phone and held it over her face. _5:04_ glowed from her screen that also showed a picture of two graduation hats side by side as her lock screen, making the woman smile.

"You mocked me for that picture, bro."

She murmured, lowering her phone and staring up at her ceiling. Was it easier for her to lead James to believe that Pietro was dead? Was it simpler to pretend that that night was the last of it, and she had nothing left to deal with?

Turning onto her side and bringing an arm under her head, she closed her eyes tightly. So many surgeries, so many hours waiting in the hospital. Hours, days, weeks. She'd become so accustomed to being there that no one questioned her when she walked through the halls.

No one stopped her from drinking the coffee in the nurse's lounge, or sleeping on their couch when the waiting room was full. But she was regarded with pity any time she walked through those doors and she hated that.

So yes, it was better no one knew. She would offer what was necessary, but the rest would stay her own guarded secret. Telling others wouldn't change anything, so what was the point in making herself more miserable when there was no need?

Opening her eyes and stifling a yawn, she sat up and looked around, realizing her computer bag was still out in the other room. She had no desire to retrieve it, so instead she changed out of her clothes and tugged on a sweatshirt, grabbing her phone before walking to her window.

She slid open the pane easily and noiselessly and ascended to the roof, taking a deep breath of the cool winter air. She had other stories to work on, but she didn't have the motivation. Her angle on the robberies had excited Stark for the first time in a while though, and he'd praised her for the work she'd put in, so he wouldn't be pestering her for another story just yet.

It was going to be published first thing in the morning, and the reviews would follow soon after. How would the city take her carefully crafted words? Would they see the hidden ironies that she had added, or was that her own personal gain in being so closely related to the article?

Either way, as she tugged her knees up close to her chest and tucked her phone in her pocket, she knew that Pietro would be proud of her. At least for her story.

* * *

Creeping back through her window, Wanda threw her phone onto her bed and made a beeline straight for her bathroom. The roof had been her get away for a while, and she had seen James leave soon after she'd settled in her spot, so she hadn't felt the need to come down sooner than she was ready. But now her fingers and toes felt like ice, and she was ready to be _warm_.

Turning the shower on and stepping beneath the hot water, she took her time running her fingers through her hair and over her face, breathing in the moisture and humming softly to herself. She almost hated to admit it, but talking earlier had actually helped her.

She'd been holding in everything for so long that finally just talking about it had been a release. And it was nice knowing he had been willing to listen. Things were still tense and weird, but maybe she could stop jumping to conclusions when it came to him, and she could just enjoy his presence and company.

She stayed in the shower until the small room was filled with steam and she had been warmed right down to her bones. Stepping out and wrapping a towel around her hair, she tugged on a robe and tied it around before reaching out and wiping the steam from her mirror.

She had circles under her eyes and her face looked swollen from crying, but then again that was normal for her now. She needed a cup of tea and to go to bed and she would feel better in the morning, she'd be ready to fully accept her new roommate and maybe she would even cook him dinner as a thank you for how kind he'd been.

Smiling to herself, she slipped out of her room and peered through the dark hallway. He wasn't home yet, which meant she didn't have to worry about being seen. Walking into the kitchen she reached out and flipped the light on, turning to the fridge as a scream left her, the woman's body jumping away from the individual caught rooting through one of her kitchen drawers.

"Oh my God, James! You scared the hell out of me!"

She gasped, her hand rising to cover her mouth.

"Sorry, I thought you were asleep, I was trying not to wake you."

He said quietly, offering her a weak smile that had her taking a step closer in concern. At first glance, he had just been rummaging through her, _their,_ drawer. But he hadn't budged from the way he was awkwardly leaning against the counter, and upon better inspection she could see the beginnings of a bruise coloring his cheek that she was positive hadn't been there before.

"Are you alright?"

She asked, taking another step closer as he tried to shy away.

"Fine. I was just looking for some Band-Aids, actually. I forgot to raid Steve's medicine cabinet before I left."

He shrugged a little, grimacing at the movement. Wanda rolled her eyes, striding forwards with all the authority she could hold in a fuzzy robe and a towel hat and planted her hands on her hips, looking him right in the eyes.

"You look like you've been in a fight, James." She gaped, glancing at his dusty sweatshirt and jeans. "And you've got mud or dirt up under your eyes."

She frowned, leaning closer only to have him finally pull away from the counter.

"Wanda, relax, I'm fine." He laughed, his demeanor relaxing. "I returned my friends truck and slipped on a patch of black ice going to get my bike." Holding up his hand, he showed an open cut on his right palm with blood dripping down it and towards his wrist. "I just was looking for a first aid kit or something, that's all."

Walking closer again, Wanda stretched out her hands.

"May I?" He smiled wider, placing his hand in both of hers as she inspected the cut carefully. "You tripped? And cut it on what, this is deep, James."

"A rock or something I guess, I wasn't really paying attention."

He shrugged again as she let go of his hand.

"I have some stuff, I'll bring it out."

She murmured, looking him over once more before walking back into her room. Moving a few things in her dresser, she pulled out a first aid kit and carried it back into the kitchen. Setting it on the counter, she pointed to one of the barstools.

"I can do it myself, Wanda, its fine." He began to object as the woman stared him down. "Alright, alright. Geez, you're kinda scary, you know that?"

"Only when I need to be." She smirked, watching as he sat down slowly, his body stiff. She couldn't help herself, she felt like she owed him from earlier, so if patching his mystery wound up would help him she would do it. "You sure that cut is all you did? I don't remember the bruise earlier."

It's an attempt at being nonchalant as she opened the kit and pulled a few things out.

"I fell on my side, so I probably just hit my face against the asphalt too. Let's not talk about it though, I'm not a fan of admitting my clumsiness to others."

He laughed again, but it sounded strained as she began to clean his hand.

"It looks like a clean cut."

She mused, eyes flickering up to him as she pulled a piece of gauze from its packaging.

"The blood and dirt kinda make me think otherwise."

He smirked as the woman rolled her eyes.

"The edges, James. Are you sure it was a rock? It looks like you cut it with a piece of metal, which could lead to an infection if it's not taken care of properly."

"Well, it's a good thing I've got you taking care of me then."

Wanda's face flushed at his comment as she applied glue and held his hand steady before wrapping the gauze carefully and securing it with a piece of medical tape. Pietro had always wanted her learn the basics of first aid, but she'd gone above and beyond that when she'd started her.. side business.

"All done."

She declared, beginning to pack the box back up as the man shifted to stand and she heard him inhale deeply. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him brace his side, a hand gingerly pressing against his ribs.

"Thank you, Wanda. You didn't have to do that, but I appreciate the help."

"It was nothing. But.."

"But?"

Turning to look at him, she stared up at his face, noting the dark circles under his eyes that looked so much like her own.

"That talking thing goes both ways. If something is going on, or you need help or whatever, you can tell me about it."

He smiled and it was warm and kind, and sad.

"I'll keep that in mind."

He reached out a hand, squeezing her arm once before walking past her and into his own room, the door closing softly and leaving the woman alone where she stood in the kitchen. Staring at his door with a frown, she snapped the lid onto the kit and pulled it to her chest, wrapping her arms around it tightly.

He was a mystery she couldn't figure out, and it was eating at her. What was he hiding? He was a decent guy, he didn't act like he had any malicious intent, but then this happened and now.. He didn't cut his hand from falling, she knew that much.

And the way he was holding his ribcage, he had to have either been in some sort of accident, or more likely he had been in a fight. But why?

Walking out of the room, she flipped the light off and stood momentarily in the dark, staring down the hall at the sliver of light that shined through from underneath the man's door, his shadow moving around as if he were pacing.

He was nice, and he was incredibly handsome, and just thinking about him in that way made her heart beat so fast in her chest. But he was also secretive and obviously hiding something. Just as he had been suspicious of her, now she was of him. But for what reason? Because he kept a few secrets?

Or because there was something else lying dormant under the surface? Something that made her heart drop into her stomach and her blood run cold. Because as considerate and reassuring as he was, there was something about him that suddenly reminded her all too much of Alexander Pierce.


	12. Chapter Eleven - Bucky

"… _baby let's ride, we got nothing but time-"_

"Mmmm.."

" _-you get all the reactions, you're the main attraction-"_

"Shut up.."

" _-it's no surprise, God I like your style-"_

Cursing quietly, a hand reached out from beneath a pile of blankets and swatted at the phone vibrating on the dresser, the melody playing just out of reach.

" _-you're the perfect distraction-"_

"Fucking.. Where are you.."

He grumbled, stretching further as his fingertips made contact with the device and tried to force it closer.

" _-you're the main attract-"_

"What?"

Bucky demanded, his voice groggy as he dropped the phone next to his face while peeking out from underneath his pillow. The light illuminated his bedroom, the sun not even up yet as he glared hatefully at the screen.

"Barnes, you awake?"

"Who wakes up this early?"

He mumbled, turning to press his face into the mattress.

"I need your help with something, can you come in early?"

"Are you dying?"

"What? No."

"Then no."

He grumbled, reaching out to turn off his phone as the man on the other end let out an annoyed breath.

"I asked her out, Barnes."

There's a beat of silence as the man pushed himself up, squinting at the phone suspiciously.

"When?"

"Last night."

There was another pause as he dropped his head and sighed.

"I hate you."

"I'll bring you breakfast."

"I hate you only slightly less."

He muttered, reaching out and ending the call as he fell back onto his pillow, letting out a quiet breath.

If it was anything else, he wouldn't bother. But this was Clint, and this was about Natasha. Besides, he still felt like he owed him for his help getting his job in the first place. When everyone else had avoided him, Clint had pushed to get him hired in the forensics department.

Groaning, he squeezed his eyes shut tighter before pushing himself up again and rolling onto the edge of his bed, grimacing at the ache in his muscles. Picking up his phone and staring at the time, he squeezed the device tighter. Sure, he could run his day on three hours of sleep, but Barton would owe him a hell of a lot of coffee for it.

Rising from the warm bed, he shivered at the contact of his bare feet against the cool floors as he padded over to his dresser, rummaging in the darkness for a pair of jeans and a shirt. Stumbling into his bathroom and turning on the light, another low groan escaped him as he blindly turned on the shower and set his clothes on the edge of the sink.

Rubbing at his burning eyes, he pulled out the elastic holding his hair and tugged off his shorts, climbing into the shower and shivering again, his hands running down his face. The heat of the water eased the tension in his chest as he stood beneath the stream, steam quickly filling the small room.

He didn't want to get out, didn't want to start his day yet. He was half tempted to get back into bed and just call in sick. He could say he'd come down with a sudden debilitating case of the Spanish flu that had rendered him bedridden with outrageously terrifying hallucinations. Or he could just say he'd contracted food poisoning.

And he might've done just that if that nagging voice in the back of his head would stop reminding him Clint wanted to talk to him. But then again, why couldn't he have talked about it over the phone? Unless it had gone tremendously bad, which with Clint, was entirely possible.

With a heavy sigh Bucky shut off the water and climbed out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist as he wiped the steam from his mirror, leaving it dotted with water as he looked at his reflection.

Tugging back his hair and feeling water drip down his spine, he turned his face and inspected the dark bruise that decorated his cheek. The pads of his fingers drifted gingerly over the infliction as he winced at the contact, the memory of the fist striking his face all too fresh in his mind.

Backing up and turning to his other side, he inspected the patch of discoloration along the left side of his chest, the marks suspiciously resembling those of a boot. The dark purple and black splotches looked awful, but the pain was worse, like he was being kicked over and over again every time he moved.

He'd known when it happened that his ribcage had been bruised, he'd heard the strike like an echo throughout his whole body. He supposed he was lucky, it could've been a lot worse considering.

Quickly drying his hair and brushing his teeth, Bucky dug around in one of the boxes propped on a shelf and pulled out a compact of concealer. He'd gotten good at hiding the worst of his bruises when he was living with Steve, and now with Wanda he knew it would be no different.

In minutes he had the dark patch of skin looking a few weeks old rather than just a few hours as he hid the compact back underneath a few of his other things and began to dress. He tugged on his clothes quickly, awake enough now to feel the pulsating headache banging around inside his head like a junior high marching band. One with _really_ loud cymbals.

Pulling his still wet hair back into the tie, he pulled his hand away and peeled off the wet gauze. The cut in his hand was still raw, the glue holding the skin together to keep it from bleeding. If he focused, he could still feel Wanda's fingers brushing against his skin, the coolness of her touch sending a wave of warmth through him as he rummaged through the bathroom drawers until he located an old Band-Aid.

He really needed to make a first aid kit now that he didn't have Steve's to pilfer from anymore. Tugging on his shoes while flipping off the light and submerging himself in darkness again, he maneuvered around the still unfamiliar room until he'd opened his door and crept into the rest of the apartment.

The lights were off in the other room, and Bucky found himself straining to stare at the woman's door. When he'd offered to talk to her last night, the last thing he'd expected was that story to come out of her. To lose her brother like that, no wonder she was so wary of other people.

Until now he hadn't met anyone else touched by Alexander Pierce, and it made him sick to know what he did her and her brother. Is that why Steve mentioned her, encouraged his moving in? Clenching his fists, he moved silently through the hall as he grabbed his keys and jacket from off the table by the door and slipped outside.

Dawn had yet to make an appearance, darkness still hovering thick over the city as he walked down the stairs and towards his bike. He should've made Clint pick him up if he was demanding an appearance this early, but as he turned the engine over he couldn't help the small smile at the sound it made.

The roads were fairly empty, few people up at such an early hour as he sped towards the station, the wind biting at his face and hands along the way. He almost hated to admit it, but the cold and the dark were familiar to him, and it held a warped form of comfort.

Slowing at a stop light, another car idled across from him, the two the only vehicles on the road as Bucky glanced down at his hand. She had been a comfort to him as well. Was that strange? He'd been miserable last night after the fight, and when she'd come out of her room he hadn't expected that reaction, that concern.

She'd looked unconvinced when he'd lied about how he'd gotten hurt, but she helped him all the same. She was kind, and strong too. She'd have to be to still be going after what she went through.

Speeding up as the light changed, he passed the car without a single glance and sped along. Her smile was infectious and her voice was soothing, not to mention her accent one of the most unique things he'd ever heard. Steve had mentioned her family was from Sokovia, but she'd been living in the United States most of her life.

Should he bring it up, or would that be too painful? She'd said her parents had died, and now that her brother was gone too, did she have no one else left? He felt for her, that reality all too familiar for him as well.

Sure he had Steve, but he missed his sister and his parents. He missed his old self too. Did she feel like that after what she'd done? That there was a piece of herself that was gone forever, even though no one could tell anything was really different on the outside?

Glancing down at his left arm, his fingers tightened around the handlebar as his teeth grit together. Sometimes he wished all that he carried were the mental scars. He'd never regretted going to war, fighting for his country. But he'd never signed up for those months of hell.

" _How's the Soldier doing today, doctor?"_

He could still hear his voice in his mind, like a knife grating against stone.

" _Stubborn as usual, Sir."_

He shuddered, body trembling as his bike sped faster down the road.

" _Well, you know how to cure that, don't you?"_

All he could see was red. The blood pooling and the stench of bleach burning his nose. The agonizing picking and peeling and poking and prodding , the sound of tools sawing through bone and the anguished screams that still haunted him in the dead of night.

He hated that damp cell and those laughing words and that smug smile that stared at him as if he were nothing more than a piece of meat. And he hated the silence. The unbearable, deafening nothingness that reminded him of days he wished he could forget and pain that was never ending.

He'd have killed that man if he'd had the chance. Destroyed that bastard and ruined his life, just as he'd ruined his. Rip into his body like he had done to him, crush his bones and tear apart his muscles just to watch him suffer and _bleed_. To make every fiber of his being ache and moan and _beg_ for it to _end_ just _let it end_.

And yet.. in truth, what could there be done? It was over now, and he was home. Letting out a hitched breath, Bucky blinked away the memories and the hatred and found himself idling outside the police station, his bike parked in its spot and his fingers wrapped like a vice around the handles.

When had he arrived? Had he been so immersed that he'd completely blocked out the rest of the drive? He hated that about himself, the memories that dredged up so much hatred and self-loathing that he forgot about everything else and made himself really believe he could do those things, could really kill someone in cold blood. But if he did, that would make him no better than Pierce, and at that point he might as well just kill himself off too.

Prying his fingers off the bars and rubbing them together, he climbed off his bike and pocketed the keys before striding towards the front doors of the building. Dawn had just begun to settle in, yet there were already numerous cars in the lot. He liked that about the station, regardless of the hour there were always people milling about.

Texting Clint that he was there he ran a hand down his face and stifled a yawn. What little sleep he'd managed to get the night before had been plagued with dreams, and he was beyond exhausted.

He needed coffee and an extremely slow day that would offer him quick release. That, and a friend who wouldn't wake him up in the early morning hours in demand his presence.

Walking through the main lobby and pressing the button for the elevators, he waited impatiently as the chatter of the receptionist and a beat cop floated over to him.

"It was crazy, they just came inside with these two guys, and no one has any clue how it happened."

"Dana told me it was Officer Quill who got the call, but he didn't bring them in, so what's that mean? Was the caller someone he knew?"

Looking over with his interest now piqued, Bucky moved a couple of steps closer.

"What happened?"

He asked, catching the eye of the receptionist who smiled warmly. Tina had always been kind to him, even after the issues he'd had.

"Around midnight a couple of guys on patrol brought in two members of the Infinity gang who were totally beat up! Said they'd gotten an anonymous call and when they arrived they found them all tied up!"

"Tied up?"

Bucky frowned, taking another step closer as the now open elevator was forgotten behind him.

"Yeah, Jimmy said that when he walked in the two guys were out cold on the floor and there was a bunch of narcotics spread all around. Perfect scene for arresting them, those guys don't stand a chance. Can't figure out who set it all up though."

"It was just those two guys, no one else? Did it look like anyone had broken in?"

Bucky asked, leaning against the counter now as the cop shrugged.

"Not from what Jim said, though if it was a dealers den, it probably wasn't the cleanest anyway. They weren't able to get much out of the guys, either. The only one to talk so far said it was a masked man who appeared out of nowhere."

"Well whoever is responsible deserves a medal. Those Infinity gang members are ruthless and they've been running free for far too long if you ask me."

Tina grumped, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair as Bucky smiled.

"If you had your way, Tina, the city would be crime free by lunch."

"Hm, maybe I should run for mayor!"

"Or maybe you should get that head of yours tested."

The cop teased, sparking new banter between the two as Bucky pushed away from them and walked back over to the elevators. Pressing the button again and watching the number tick down, a small smile crept onto his face.

Maybe it really had been worth it then, getting his ass kicked. He'd gotten a few names, and as it turned out, he'd given hope to a few people in the city. The Infinity Gang _wasn't_ as untouchable as everyone thought. At least their lackeys weren't.

Stepping inside as the doors opened, he pushed his floor's button and smiled wider. Deserved a medal, huh? He could get used to talk like that.

As the doors opened again and Bucky slipped out onto his floor, most of the desks were empty save one.

He walked slowly, eyes flitting to where Loki Laufeyson sat perched on one side of his desk, speaking intently into his phone in a low tone.

As their eyes met, the man shot the photographer a hateful look before turning away and speaking even quieter. Making a face at the turned detective's back, Bucky trudged on to find Clint. That man was shady beyond belief, why they'd ever let him on the force he'd never understand. Didn't anyone see how he never actually did his job?

Walking to the back of the floor he found the only other desk that was currently occupied with papers spread everywhere, a cup of coffee on one end, and a pastry bag on the other.

The man seated at the desk was about as put together as his belongings, the tie he'd once been wearing now laying half in his trash can, and his jacket slung carelessly over the back of his chair. It was evident that he hasn't shaved since the day before, and there was a stain on the front of his shirt that Bucky was positive had to be jelly filling.

"You look like shit, Barton."

He spoke up, watching in amusement as the man in front of him jolted, papers on his desk sliding to the floor as tired eyes met his.

"So do you. Who punched you this time?"

"What?"

"Your makeup is smudged, genius." Clint mumbled, gesturing a hand up at the photographer's face as he groaned and ran his hands over his eyes. "What time is it?"

"About forty minutes after you woke me up, _genius_."

Bucky scowled, snatching his phone from his pocket and turning the camera on to look at himself, irritated to find the Clint was correct and a streak of the cover up he had used had been wiped away and was revealing the darker skin beneath.

"Oh, shit, that's right."

"Did you even go home last night?"

Bucky asked, grabbed a chair from another desk and rolling it over, falling down in it and sighing, his side and his head throbbing simultaneously.

"No, how could I? There's too much work."

"Put it aside for five minutes and talk to me," Bucky urged, leaning closer and spinning the man's chair to face him. "You asked Nat out?"

"What?"

"On the phone, you said you asked Natasha out."

"No I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"I know, but no, I didn't. I said that to get you here."

There's a beat of silence, ice colored hues glaring hatefully at the detective as he pulled away and inhaled slowly.

"You lied to me.. to get me here.. before even the _sun_ was up?"

"Yeah, but look, breakfast as promised."

Clint stated, offering the coffee cup out to the photographer and motioning to the pastry bag as Bucky scowled.

"You're an _asshole_ Clint, and I'm going home."

"Wait!" The man yelped, stretching out his hand to stop Bucky from getting up. "I wouldn't have lied but I really do need your help."

"Too late, get someone else to dig you out of whatever mess you made."

He muttered, pushing Clint away and standing.

"James, please."

He hesitated, turning to look at the man over his shoulder, a pleading look he rarely saw etched onto his face that had him slowly caving.

"What could I possibly help you with?"

"Sit?"

"Tell me first, then I'll decide if it's worth dealing with you."

"We had sex, okay?" The words that leave his mouth weren't the ones Bucky had been expecting, and as his jaw dropped, he found any words of his own unable to come out. "We had sex, and we're probably going to have sex again. Now will you sit, please?" Dropping heavily into the seat and still gaping, Bucky watched Clint turn back to his desk and shuffle through the papers, looking frantically before he bent down and scooped some up off the floor. "Here it is, look. Stop staring and _look_."

He insisted, shoving the papers at the man as Bucky forced himself to look at the information given to him.

"These.. these are the insurance claims for what was stolen during the last three heists."

He says slowly, taking the papers and skimming over them.

"Yeah, pretty high, right?"

"Everything that was taken was fairly valuable so yeah, they're high payouts. So what?"

"They're all different companies. Different companies, different victims varying in age and race and gender. There's no correlations between any of them, _none._ I'm going crazy here, Barnes. I can't find anything that would connect the thief to any of them."

"Why are you looking at what was stolen?"

He asked, setting the papers on the desk and grabbing a different stack, reviewing some of the case files.

"What else _is there_?"

"You've looked into where they live, you've made maps, you've checked to see if they knew anyone who knew another person who knew another victim?"

"I've dug so far into personal histories and the closet I've come is finding out that the first victim's ex-wife's sister in law's daughter's boyfriend's poodle eats the same kibble as _their_ dog." Clint groaned, dropping his head on his desk and grabbing at the back of his neck. "And because of that damn story, Fury is on our ass big time to get this taken care of. The last thing we needed was this kind of media. Not to mention the inside scoop that _I'm_ getting blamed for."

"Slow down, I'm not following."

Bucky shook his head, setting the files down and grabbing the coffee, taking a long sip.

"She didn't tell you?"

"She who? The hell are you talking about, Clint?"

He watched as the man reached around and pulled a newspaper out from under the pastry bag and held it out to him.

"Front page news this morning, and look at the author." Taking the paper and unfolding it, Bucky stared with wide eyes. "Scarlet Witch, A Thief For The Ages."

Clint spoke aloud, banging his head lightly against his desk.

"Story by Wanda Maximoff." Bucky finished, shaking his head slowly. "Why-"

"It's the flowers, Buck. She knows about the flowers and now _everyone_ knows and that was our only solid piece of evidence. And you know what this means now."

"Copycats."

"Copycats."

Clint nodded, groaning again.

"Who told her?"

"It wasn't me, I sent her away. And while everyone likes her, surely they knew better than to give a reporter information like that!"

"But Fury is blaming you because you're her Godfather."

Bucky sighed, dropping the paper in his lap as Clint turned his head a fraction, staring up at the other man woefully.

"I need to solve this case fast, before anything else is spread. We know absolutely nothing about this thief aside from her probably being a woman, which is _another_ little tidbit she managed to gleam."

"Right, yeah," Bucky chuckled awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head. Okay, so he'd told her they suspected a woman, but he'd never said a _word_ about the flowers. One statement was just speculation whereas the other was their strongest connection to the thief. "Listen, I know you're worried about this, but you can't just stay all night like this. You need to go home and get some rest, look at things with fresh eyes."

"Easy for you to say, your career isn't riding on all this."

"You're being dramatic."

"No I'm not. I just need to accept the fact that in three months I'll be paying my bills with money I make from being the janitor cause that's the only way I'll still be working in this place."

"Yeah, not dramatic at all." Bucky rolled his eyes, standing up and swatting his back with the newspaper. "Go _home_ , Clint. Before you go insane sitting here."

"Too late."

"Thanks, by the way."

"For what?"

He mumbled, his voice muffled as Bucky took a step away and grinned.

"For the win. Thanks to you, the office pot is mine."

"Office pot?"

Sitting up, Clint narrowed his eyes as Bucky grinned wider at him.

"For when you two would end up together, champ. We're all so proud."

"That smart assed mouth is why you always have bruises on your face, Barnes!"

Clint yelled out as Bucky walked backwards away from him, giving him a small salute with the paper.

"Go home!"

"You were supposed to help me!"

"I am, go home!"

"I bought you breakfast!"

"You have day old doughnuts and cold coffee from the break room, don't think I didn't notice, now _go_ _home_." Bucky yelled back, turning around and immediately stumbling into someone, knocking them to the ground as a stack of papers flew up above them. "Oh shi- Kid, you okay?"

He asked quickly, kneeling down to help pick up the stack of papers that had fallen as the highschooler scrambled for the files.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Barnes, I thought I was far enough out of your way."

The boy apologized as Bucky offered him a smile.

"Don't worry about it, Peter, accidents happen. I should've been watching where I was going. Why are you here this early?"

He asked, standing up and handing the papers he'd picked up to the boy who quickly shuffled them in with his own.

"I had to drop off a few things for Mr. Lang and Detective Laufeyson asked me to take these things to the filing room."

He explained hurriedly as Bucky frowned.

"Aren't you supposed to be at your internship by seven?"

"Yes, sir."

"Kid, give me those and go before you're late getting there. Loki shouldn't have pegged you with this when you aren't even working with his department."

Taking the stack of papers from him, Peter shook his head.

"I-It's fine, I don't mind, really. Besides, I don't think I'll be working at the paper for much longer anyway."

He sighed, dropping his gaze to the floor as Bucky sat the stack of papers on a nearby desk.

"What? Why, what happened?"

"Nothing, really. Just.. balancing an internship and a part time job with school has been really difficult and I should be dedicating my time to one specific thing, not letting my uncertainty get in the way of both places."

He shrugged halfheartedly, the words sounding strange coming from the boy as Bucky folded his arms suspiciously.

"You have an interest in photography _and_ in forensic analysis, you're allowed to pursue both options. And I certainly haven't heard any complaints about you from anyone in this building, which means someone at the newsroom did."

"It's not a big deal, I-"

"And what you said just then doesn't sound like you, it sounded like Stark."

The boy's face turned a shade of scarlet as he looked pleadingly up at the man.

"Mr. Stark only has my best interests at heart. He's helped me a lot and if he thinks I should be dedicating my time to one place instead of two, well, maybe I should be."

"He does like you a lot, I've never seen him take a shining to anyone quite like you before," Another flustered look brings a small smile to Bucky's face. "But if you can handle both the internship and the job, then you should do both."

"But-"

"It's ultimately up to you, kid. But it's _your_ choice, not Stark's, and not mine. Yours."

Staring at the ground, Peter nodded a couple of times before looking up.

"Thanks, Mr. Barnes."

"Go on, get going."

"The papers-"

"I'll handle it. Go on."

"Thanks."

He nodded again, tugging on his backpack and running back towards the elevators as Bucky sighed. Stark was going to smother that kid if he wasn't careful. Everyone knew how much Peter meant to him, but he also didn't need to try and protect him from everything. He shouldn't have given him the internship if he didn't want the kid out searching for stories. Looking back over at the stack of papers, Bucky gathered them up and carried them back over to Loki's desk.

"File your own paperwork."

He said gruffly, dropping the stack in front of the man who glared in his direction.

"Excuse me?"

"Parker isn't your secretary, he doesn't even work on this floor. File your own paperwork and leave the kid alone, he's got enough on his plate."

"Get lost."

Loki muttered, turning his head away as Bucky stared in shocked silence. When had he ever _not_ had a fight with Loki? He looked about as bad as Clint though, with dark circles prominent under his eyes and raw spots on his nail beds, so instead of arguing Bucky turned and walked to his own desk slowly, trying to determine when exactly the pigs would start flying.

Sitting down with a sigh and booting up his computer, he blinked a couple of times before stretching out the newspaper again and glancing over the story. The cover photo was a picture of a single rose that looked almost as pristine as the ones at the crime scenes.

"Scarlet Witch."

He spoke softly, drumming his fingers along his desk. What had persuaded her to use such a name? Scarlet from the flower, obviously, but why a witch? Because the culprit managed to get out so easily and without being seen each time? Or because they had no current leads?

' _On top of spotless crime scenes, it has been confirmed that the elusive thief leaves behind a single red rose concluding each robbery, the immaculate flower a calling card for the suspected woman who has managed to appear, and disappear, as if by magic.'_

Skimming the article, he found the words were crafted intricately, describing various opinions and an almost praising tone for the thief. Obviously Wanda found them entrancing, but the question was why?

"Scarlet Witch, fitting name, I guess."

He mumbled, running his fingers down his face and looking up as Clint trudged towards the elevators, his belongings in hand and a file clutched under his arm. Leaning back in his chair, Bucky picked up a pen and twisted it between his fingers, staring intently at the back of the man's head.

He couldn't believe there were absolutely no connections, perhaps there was an avenue Clint just hadn't searched yet, a hidden lead right under their noses. But he'd seen all those papers, he'd looked into just about everyone and everything.

Glancing down at the newspaper again, he sat up and squinted at the photo. The flower, _that_ was their lead. Clint had looked at the victims and the objects and the insurance companies and the weird poodle kibble, but he hadn't checked out the flowers yet.

Someone had to be buying those flowers, and with how pristine they all seemed to be, they had to be buying them from the same location. And where there was a business, there were security cameras.


End file.
